


Sink or Swim

by Enabler (Straggler)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: (as in SWIMMING and not the other kind), (because I took a fair bit of liberties with this story in order to make it happen), Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Gen, One-Sided Relationship, Other, Pre-Slash, Self-Discovery, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straggler/pseuds/Enabler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Charles’ final year of high school and the only thing left standing in the way of his graduation and his dream of attending Oxford are the final examinations. It’ll be a piece of cake – that is until his principal delivers him the worst news of his teenage life and throws him in for an extra hurdle he’s not prepared for. As it stands, there are now two things he must do: final examinations and eight extra credits that need to be earned in order to complete his high school education. As it turns out, only one person can help him with the latter: Erik Lehnsherr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been 6 months, more or less, since my last chapter story so I'm feeling sort of...out of whack. This aside I hope you'll still enjoy reading the story and I hope you'll stick around until the very end. I'm estimating this whole thing to be roughly 3 chapters with a word count of somewhere between 8-10k but I've never been really that great at guessing so we'll just have to see!
> 
> In case you're wondering, [Anna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaMcb24) was the one who got the ball rolling for this idea. SO IT'S COMPLETELY HER FAULT.

 

\---

 

_Charles breaks the surface with a gasp, his fingers instinctively reaching for the edge of the pool but two hands encircles his wrists before he can grab hold of them. He looks up at his captor with pleading in his eyes but all he receives is a severe frown and a shake of the head._

_‘Please, Erik,’ Charles manages to say steadily despite the lack of breath in his lungs and the shivers wracking his body._

_‘Again,’ he orders and lets go, watches as Charles struggles to keep his head above the water._

 

\---

 

It was the beginning of spring when he was told the bad news: he didn’t have enough credits to graduate. Charles’ goal of attending Oxford suddenly seemed impossibly far away, gone from within his grasp, and he pales at the thought.

 

‘There has to be some mistake,’ he finds himself saying, originality be damned, ‘I’ve checked and double-checked all my papers and curriculums to make sure I would. I should have an _excess_ of credits, not a shortage of it.’

 

‘You’ve misunderstood, Mr. Xavier,’

 

‘Then please enlighten me, Mr. Shaw,’ he can’t help but snap.

 

The older man frowns at him with narrowed eyes but makes no comment about his lack of manners. He clears his throat as he opens the folder in front of him concerning Charles Xavier’s educational records and readjusts his glasses to skim through the pages. ‘You’ve more than enough academic units to graduate by the end of this year, however—’

 

 _However_ , Charles holds his breath while his heart stutters erratically in his chest.

 

‘—you do not have enough sports credits to make the grade.’

 

He frowns, suddenly irritated. ‘I was under the impression that physical education credits do not count towards our graduation requirements unless one actually _wants_ to pursue that line of career.’ It’s the only reason why he chose to skip those classes entirely so he could concentrate more fully on his subjects of choice. One would’ve thought they would inform him when he moved his schedule around to exclude P.E as a subject.

 

The principal raises his eyebrows in surprise, as though he hadn’t expected anybody to read the school guides and regulations but the surprise doesn’t stay apparent on his face for long. ‘Yes, this is correct but despite this, eight sports credit are still required from you before your year finishes.’

 

Charles begins to panic, sweat beading across his forehead and forming in the creases of his palms. ‘You do realize that we’re coming close to the end of the year – final examinations begin in six weeks and graduation is less than three months away.’

 

His mustache twitches at the reminder. ‘I’m fully aware of this, which is why I’ve allowed you an extension so that you may try and earn those eight credits. You have a choice between track and swimming.’

 

 _Track?_ He thinks to himself in disbelief. _In this blistering weather? No, thanks._ ‘I’ll take swimming,’ he says without enthusiasm, still reeling from the worst news of his accumulated teenage years.

 

‘Excellent!’ Mr. Shaw’s expression lights up in a smile as he reaches for his desk drawer and pulls it open, revealing block after block after block of confectionary treats. ‘I’ve already taken the liberty of asking someone to help you with acquiring them. Chocolate?’ He offers.

 

He feels trepidation growing in his belly as he steels his nerves and ignores the chocolate being waved in front of his face in favor of a more pressing question. ‘May I ask who?’

 

‘I’m sure you’re familiar with Erik Lehnsherr, I believe he’s in the same biology class as you,’ he says through a mouthful of chocolate.

 

Charles pales further at the announcement.

 

Erik Lehnsherr is indeed in the same biology class as him but that’s not the problem. Erik is also part of the swim team, nominated as captain at the beginning of the new school year. Notorious for his inability to cut anybody any slack as well as his harsh training techniques that can’t be denied they brought results; results which helped the team achieve the regional championships and their first win after five consecutive years of losses. Repeat: **Five** _consecutive_ years of losses.

 

‘I think the both of you will get along just _swimmingly_ ,’ the older man chuckles to himself as he tucks the chocolate back into the drawer and closes it with a hard _thud_.

 

 _I’m going to die_ , Charles corrects.

 

\--

 

Through observations from their shared classes together over the years of attending the same school Charles has learned that Erik tends to frown an unhealthy amount. Next to this he also learned that Erik doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and unless the person speaking to him is a teacher he doesn’t tend to speak at all, so it stands to reason that Charles is reasonably surprised when Erik is the one to initiate the conversation instead of it being the other way around.

 

‘Do you know how to swim?’ He immediately asks upon Charles’ arrival.

 

Charles stops within two feet of Erik and remarks, ‘depends on your definition of “swim”.’ He wonders why Erik is already wearing his gym clothes but decides that maybe he had P.E as his last period of the day.

 

Erik gives him a facsimile of a smile, except it’s all teeth with no genuine happiness behind the gesture. ‘If I pushed you into this pool will you float or drown?’

 

 ‘I can swim,’ he says as he pushes away an image of a shark from his mind.

 

‘Good,’ he nods and promptly shoves Charles into the pool, uncaring that the brunet still hasn’t changed out of his uniform and into his swimming gear.

 

He sputters out a mouthful of water as he scrambles to his feet, thankful that he left his electronics in his locker and that he’s on the shallow end of the pool, ‘what on earth was that for?’

 

Erik ignores his outburst as he stands in front of Charles with his hands behind his back. ‘Lesson 1: punctuality. I don’t care why you’re late only that you _are_ , and if you are then you’re expected to do more to make up for it.’

 

‘I won’t do it again,’ Charles promises as he stays where he is, waist-deep in the water and not daring to make a move to get out unless invited to. He’s suddenly reminded of a military officer and wonders if Erik has any relatives that were previously enlisted in the army. He wouldn’t be surprised if it were the case.

 

Erik nods, satisfied with the answer as he begins to walk a leisurely pace along the edge of the pool but keeps within earshot of where Charles stood. ‘Mr. Shaw has given me eight weeks to train and prepare you so that you may earn your eight sports credits in time for graduation. You have three tasks that you need to carry out, all of which adds to a total of eight credits; no more and no less than what you require. I will help you fulfill these tasks to the best of my abilities.’

 

Charles’ mind stutters at his words, at his _promise_ that he will do his utmost for him. His opinion of Erik wavers between someone who is harsh and someone who is devoted. He sways where he stands, barely noticeable, and can’t help but feel overwhelmed by Erik’s determination to see him succeed.

 

‘One of your tasks is the fifteen-hundred meter freestyle—’

 

 _Fifteen-hundred!!_ He chokes and pales at the prospect of having to swim that far a distance.

 

‘—which, if you pass, gives you four of your eight required credits. The second is the four-hundred meter individual medley which is worth only two credits and brings your total to six. The third and final task is the four-hundred meter freestyle which is another two credits giving you a total of eight. Are we clear?’

 

Feeling it best not to speak out of turn Charles slowly raises a hand to get Erik’s attention.

 

‘Yes?’ He asks with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk on his lips.

 

‘How am I going to be tested to see if I’ve passed?’

 

Erik nods at the question, as if he’d been expecting it. ‘It’s going to be part of your final examinations along with the others. You’ll be tested across two days, one for the fifteen-hundred meter freestyle and another day for the four-hundred meter freestyle and individual medley.’

 

‘Do you know when the examination is set to happen?’ He hopes he has enough time between studying for his papers to pass this extra hurdle, too.

 

‘After our eight weeks are up will be anyone’s guess,’ he says with a shrug.

 

Charles bites his lip in worry; final examinations begin in roughly six weeks and he’s been given eight weeks to prepare for the three swimming tasks. While he’s certain that he’ll pass his assessments without too much concern, he can’t help but feel blindsided by the physical education credits.

 

 _Maybe I shouldn’t have skipped those classes,_ he thinks in retrospect and feels regret eat away at his stomach.

 

Erik lowers himself to a crouch by the poolside and waits for Charles to look at him before saying: ‘You’ll be fine, now get out and get changed. We’ll start with five laps of your best swimming technique and work from there.’

 

He falters pulling himself out of the pool. ‘I…don’t really have one.’

 

He grins again, all teeth and nothing more. ‘Doggy-paddle, then.’

 

 _Great_.

 

\--

 

It’s only the first day of their eight week session and Charles already feels weak-kneed, dizzy, breathless and on the verge of falling over in a dead heap. The only reason why he hasn’t yet is because of his death-grip on the metal steps leading out of the pool and Erik’s firm grasp on his bicep holding him above the water.

 

‘I suppose five laps of your best technique was a bit too ambitious,’ Erik remarks as he helps the brunet out of the pool without too much strain on his part.

 

Charles barely manages to string a coherent sentence together as he lies sprawled on his back. ‘I’m not…one for sports.’

 

‘I can tell,’ he exhales noisily, with the barest of smirks on his face as he stands and begins to pace around the pool again, only returning after two complete circles. ‘I know I said we’ll do this once every two days with a break in between for you to study but we’re going to have to do lessons everyday if we want to make our eight week deadline.’

 

Charles groans in dismay at the news but can see the logic behind Erik’s reasoning even with his world spinning in all sorts of directions. At the rate he’s progressing he definitely won’t be able to complete the 30 laps required for his four credits, especially when he can barely complete five without feeling asthmatic.

 

 _I really shouldn’t have skipped P.E_ , he mourns silently.

 

‘We’ll need to build up your endurance,’ Erik says as he crouches next to the brunet, pats him on the shoulder and gestures for him to get up. ‘Come on, we’ll finish here for today but we’ll stop off at the gym to discuss a training schedule.’

 

He feels heavy from earth’s gravity pushing him down onto the ground but Charles forces himself to get up to his feet, although he can’t help but double-over from exertion. It’s been too long since he was last physically active – dancing around like a loon at home when no one’s watching doesn’t count. ‘You don’t happen to have a change of clothes I could borrow, do you?’ He asks in reminder of his soaked clothes and the bag that went into the pool with him previously.

 

‘I’ll lend you my spares,’ he says with a nod towards a dark blue sports bag sitting on one of the bleachers. ‘I’ll go ahead and see about borrowing the keys to the equipment room.’

 

Erik leaves without another word while Charles takes his time, concentrates on getting breath back into his lungs and wonders if every day is going to be this intense. He straightens and goes about collecting his gear and almost slips back into the pool when Erik shouts at him from the entryway: ‘You’ve got five minutes!’

 

After this, Charles hurries like he’s got the devil on his heels. In a way, he does.

 

As soon as Charles meets Erik outside the equipment room in a uniform about two sizes too big for him they get down to the business of figuring out a routine together. Their following conversation goes like this:

 

‘We’ll meet every second morning and run laps around the field, how many can you do without too much effort?’ Erik asks as he fits the key into the lock and twists it open, leading the way in.

 

Charles curses himself for dropping sports as a subject for the umpteenth time that day as he guesses a rough estimate in relation to the length of the field track and his physical prowess. ‘…One?’

 

Erik’s eyes slowly turn away from the brunet to the fluorescent lighting above them as if to say: _God help me._

 

Charles follows his sentiment and begs solemnly to a deity he believes in only when he wants to: _God help us all_.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said that this was going to be 3 chapters long but uh...I made a small miscalculation somewhere so uh...yeah. I TOLD YOU I WASN'T VERY GOOD AT ESTIMATIONS SO IT'S NOT ENTIRELY MY FAULT!! SKDFJHSKJFHS

 

\---

 

_The world above the surface of the water is distorted, dreamlike, and he’s almost tempted to stay where he is: at the bottom of the pool. He closes his eyes, begs his heart to calm as his mind counts off the passing seconds and the time he has left in his lungs._

_He feels disembodied; it’s almost peaceful._

 

\---

 

Charles can’t remember the last time he felt this bone-tired after a day of school. The closest he can remember was the day he attended “High School Challenge” with a team of three other people and was so mentally exhausted by the end of it that he ended up skipping dinner and slept through the night until the sun rose the next morning. Currently, all he wants is a quick nap on the couch and maybe a snack to eat after. What he _doesn’t_ want is to see his **little sister** making out with his  best friend in the living room on his favorite couch.

 

‘What the bloody hell!’ He shouts and immediately drops everything to cover his eyes.

 

‘Charles!’ They yell simultaneously and jump away to opposite ends of the couch. Raven tries to fix her hair and clothes while Hank attempts to button up his shirt and straighten out his glasses.

 

‘My god, couldn’t you have done this in your room? There are certain things a sibling doesn’t ever need to see,’ he says and finally risks a look through his fingers, only lowering his arms when he deems Raven and Hank appropriate enough to be seen.

 

‘Oh, get off your high-horse, Charles; it’s not as if you’ve never done this before,’ Raven tells him with a roll of her eyes as she unbuttons Hank’s shirt to redo them properly. Hank’s only response is to flush an even deeper shade of red as he murmurs to her a quiet “thank you”.

 

‘Have you _ever_ caught me doing what you were just doing?’ He says in response, hands on his hips, never minding the fact that he’s never actually brought anyone home before. Not that Raven knows about this.

 

She falters and concedes to his point with a huff. ‘ _Fine_! Knock yourself on the head until you forget the last five minutes of your life.’

 

‘I’m afraid no amount of knocking will force that memory out,’ he sighs in regret and finally notices the books strewn on the living room table, on the familiar equations and formulas. He raises an eyebrow and addresses the issue. ‘I wasn’t aware you were in need of help for physics, Raven.’

 

‘I needed a refresher,’ she says without missing a beat, ignoring Charles’ unconvinced look as she helps Hank pack his things back into his bag. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’ Raven asks him hopefully.

 

‘Yes, tomorrow,’ he smiles and leans in for a kiss on the cheek only to belatedly remember that Charles is still standing right behind them. ‘Uh, see you tomorrow, too.’

 

Charles’ only reply is to send a stern look to Hank with an expression that says all too well: _There will be words._

 

Hank nods and gives a crooked grin as he leaves, but not before giving Raven another more genuine smile as he exits the front door.

 

As soon as Hank is gone Raven harrumphs and proceeds to give Charles the silent treatment as she begins to stack her books and bring her things back into her room. Charles couldn’t care less – she can never _not_ talk to him for more than a couple of hours at a time. At this moment, all he wants is to sleep and, with any luck, hope he’ll forget what just occurred in the living room.

 

He’s just about to lie down on his favorite napping couch when his brain reminds him what just transpired on it. Charles changes his mind at the last second and decides to take a nap in his room instead, mourning the loss of yet another one of his favorite house furniture.

 

\--

 

There are very many things Charles is endlessly thankful for in his life, such as his university acceptance letter from Oxford being one example, but in this current moment the heated pool the school decided to invest in for the colder months is making top of the list – it feels easier knowing the water he’s jumping into won’t threaten to freeze his insides like liquid nitrogen to a watermelon. What _isn’t_ making top of the list right now are the eight sports credits he still needs to earn before the year is out and the passing requirements Erik failed to tell him previously.

 

‘You need to complete the fifteen-hundred meter freestyle in 35 minutes to achieve a pass and gain your four credits.’

 

Charles feels something heavy drop in his stomach; it feels like doom. ’35 minutes,’ he repeats in a slight wheeze. He can barely swim for five minutes in a row without feeling winded and he’s supposed to swim the length of the pool 30 times in 35 minutes? _Impossible_.

 

‘It’s not impossible,’ Erik says, as if he read the brunet’s mind, ‘I can do it in about 27 minutes, give or take a few.’

 

‘But I’m not you,’ the words slip out of his mouth without his meaning to and immediately he wants to snatch the words back. It sounds pitiful even to his ears and he forces hip lips to cooperate with his brain to ask about the requirements for the other two tasks before a flush can erupt on his cheeks and before Erik can comment anything on it.

 

Mercifully, Erik lets it go and answers him: ‘The four-hundred meter freestyle and medley needs to be completed at 5 minutes 30 seconds each for you to earn your last four credits.’

 

Charles stares at the blue tiles beneath his feet as he processes this and notices how even though only a few minutes has passed since he first entered the water his fingers have already started to become pruney. ‘Still a ways to go, but not too bad, considering.’

 

‘Exactly,’ he nods in agreement and looks at the brunet in quiet encouragement. ‘Lesson 2: one lap at a time. There’s no point going in for the long haul if you can’t even put out the effort for the short run.’

 

After this, the instructing begins.

 

\--

 

As it turns out there’s actually quite a lot of things one needs to know about the art of swimming: the different swimming techniques itself (the strengths and weakness versus personal preference over style), how to breathe (or more specifically, _when_ to breathe), calculating the distance between the body and the wall (to avoid the pain and suffering of an injured hand), swimming caps versus none, and Speedos versus trunks.

 

Charles cringes at the last; he’s not exactly a fan of Speedos, though he concedes the pros of wearing it to decrease body friction against the water, especially when it’s also going to be a battle against the clock.

 

‘Forcing your body through the water is already difficult enough on its’ own but decreasing the resistance helps in the long run. Trust me when I say a little goes a long way.’

 

‘Everybody says that,’ he mutters to himself and thinks about his favorite swimming trunks with its multi-colored double helices on a dark blue background, mourns the fact that he’ll have to change his entire swimming gear for the sake of those last eight credits. Again, he curses his lack of foresight when it comes to the subject of sports. An Achilles’ heel, one might say.

 

It’s the fourth day of their eight week training schedule and they’re making steady progress. They rendezvous in the early morning outside the gym to alternate between running the field and doing rowing exercises in the equipment room for roughly half an hour on each. The running, Erik says, is to help him develop strength in his legs and the rowing is to help him on his arms. Along with this reasoning, these two styles of training will also assist Charles with building up his endurance and keep him on an even pacing. They’ll eventually increase the time for both exercises when Erik feels he’s more capable of it and when Charles thinks he can push himself a bit further.

 

‘Similar to doing a marathon of any sort, swimming can get repetitive but it’s not about winning; it’s about technique, self-discipline and focus.’

 

Charles can feel a stitch growing in his side but he concentrates on pulling the handle bars of the rowing machine towards his chest before giving it some slack and pulling again. The pain grows but it’s a minor nuisance and easily ignored enough. ‘You tell your team members that it’s not about winning?’ He manages to say between hard breaths. He would’ve assumed that the sports’ mentality is _always_ about winning.

 

‘Yes,’ he says with the slightest grunt as he does his exercises with the machine on its highest resistance level. ‘The more you concentrate on making time, the less you’re concentrating on yourself and the less you’re concentrating on yourself, the more likely your opponent will get ahead of you. That’s what I tell them.’

 

 _Makes sense_ , he thinks to himself and forgets to translate it into actual words. In a way, though, he’s starting to see more of why Erik makes a good team captain.

 

‘Swimming,’ Erik begins, ‘is about body and mind and keeping both of these in sync. It’s about perseverance and commitment, determination and motivation. As long as you have all of this then you’ll be fine.’

 

 _I’m not you_ , his mind traitorously repeats but thankfully doesn’t pass the message along for his mouth to voice out. Charles forces the thought away to concentrate on building strength in his arms, one row at a time. He counts each pull and listens to the whirr coming from the machine, tries not to become distracted by the faster pace Erik is pushing himself to keep in favor of his own.

 

The silence between them is calming, comfortable to the point that Charles doesn’t realize they’ve come to the end of their half an hour workout until he catches Erik tucking the handles back on the stand and resetting the resistance level on its lowest setting for the next person to use. Charles follows suit and lets out a relieved sigh as he lightly kneads his knuckles into his arms, hoping to loosen them before they turn into a constant ache.

 

They begin their warm-down stretches with Erik walking it off on the treadmill while Charles prefers to lie down on the mats until his heart rate goes back to its normal pace. Erik always looks amused by this, though he never says anything about it. He does, however, talk about the weekend.

 

‘The gym and pool is usually open on Saturday and Sunday for students to use so long as there’s a teacher around to keep things on track but with the exams coming up so close they’ve decided to stop it for the time being,’ he decreases the pace from a power-walk down to a leisurely stroll. ‘They won’t make an exception even for us, so for the weekend I want you to head down to your local gym and continue with the training. Do as much as you can over the course of the day but pace yourself; don’t strain your body.’

 

Charles nods as he begins to do some stretches for his arms and legs but doesn’t tell Erik his home already has a built-in pool and gym of its own thanks to his mother’s (and Raven’s) on-and-off dieting regime. Currently, it’s “off” for the both of them.

 

‘Oh, before I forget, we also need to talk about your diet.’

 

 _Oh **god** , no_, he immediately sits up from the mat and yells loud enough to make Erik almost trip up, ‘my _diet_?!’

 

\--

 

After surviving the first week Charles has come to expect a certain routine where he has to run and/or use the rowing machine in the morning for about half an hour or so and then progress to swimming in the afternoon for a full-body workout. He’s come to expect the same for Monday, too, and while the morning went accordingly to plan, the afternoon was not at all what he’d expected. For one, he hadn’t expected to see Erik in his Speedos first thing upon entering the swimming area.

 

‘Don’t tell me you’re swimming with me today,’ Charles blurts without meaning to and wonders if the connection between his brain and mouth has short-circuited somewhere along the way of their training.

 

 ‘I promise not to bite.’ Erik grins as he nudges his head towards the changing room for him to hurry along.

 

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ he mutters beneath his breath as he sulks away and tries not to think about how, if he hadn’t dropped sports entirely out of his life, he might’ve possibly earned himself a body similar to Erik’s. He snorts quietly to himself: _Yeah, right._

 

Charles is never usually self-conscious about his body or his weight but there are times when it simply can’t be ignored. This is one of those times. He takes in the pale skin, the little dusting of freckles across the skin of his shoulders, the awkward jut of his bones resembling your run-of-the-mill gangly teenager who hasn’t quite yet grown into his own skin. Charles admits that he’s always been slight but now he wonders if it’s all his own doing.

 

 _No one to blame but myself_ , he thinks darkly as he covers himself with a towel before stepping out of the changing rooms in time to see Erik dive into the pool with his arms outstretched to break the water surface and ease his way in. Charles uses this opportunity to put his belongings on the bleacher and mentally prepare himself for another day of hard swimming but before he can shed the towel and jump in, Erik whistles for his attention from the other side of the pool.

 

‘There’s a stopwatch on top of my jacket by the towel, see it?’ He asks as he gets out of the pool and makes his way towards the starting blocks.

 

‘Yes?’ He takes it and holds it up by the string. ‘Are you timing me today?’

 

‘Yes, but for now I want you watch me. I’ll start off with the medley on your count.’

 

Charles waits for Erik to readjust his goggles and get into position before he begins; ‘On your marks, get set, _go_!’

 

The timer starts and stops again at 4:13.08. Erik’s almost good enough to make the Olympics and the prospect of this is enough to make Charles feel at awe.

 

\---

 

Erik has a grace to him as he swam, a sort of fluidity that Charles was sure his own body did not possess. He has to remind himself constantly that it’s not a competition; there are credits at stake, eight to be exact. Even so, he can’t help but feel envious.

 

\---

 

What he doesn’t know is that the feeling is mutual.

 

\---

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

\---

 

_He can feel his heart racing, beating so wildly in his chest he’s amazed nobody else can hear it. Every breath of air catches in his throat and he can’t tell if he’s exhilarated or terrified from being this high up away from solid ground. He’s standing on the very end of the dive board staring down at the calm and pristine waters of the pool and it looks beautiful from this point of view._

_He takes a deep breath and holds it in as he steps over the edge._

 

\---

 

Charles breaks the surface with a gasp as he reaches for the edge of the pool, eyes searching for Erik only to be confused when he’s not in front of him where he’s supposed to be. He turns to his left and sees Erik standing about two and a half lanes away with a dumbstruck expression on his face.

 

‘Just because there aren’t any marked lanes doesn’t mean you can swim all over the place,’ Erik tells him, looking so thoroughly amused he’s almost on the verge of laughing but thankfully keeps it to a quiet snicker.

 

Charles’ cheeks flush in embarrassment and he contemplates how it is he can still make a fool of himself from trying to _swim_ from one side of the pool to another. He dips his head under the surface in an attempt to cool his head but to no avail; he feels so warm that he can’t help but wonder if his body is giving off steam.

 

This is one of those times he’s not entirely grateful for the heated swimming pool – it’s suddenly too hot to handle.

 

\--

 

Time, as Charles has learnt over the years, can be a person’s closest ally or their worst enemy. Time, much like Change, cannot be fought against and cannot be swayed; it is an inevitability and can only be endured. As of this moment, Time is something of an issue with Charles: he’s unable to complete both the four-hundred meter freestyle and medley one after another at a maximum count of 5 minutes 30 seconds each.

 

‘The problem, as I see it, is that you push yourself too hard in the first few laps of the swim,’ Erik says as he crouches by the edge of the pool and shows Charles his total time of 6 minutes 14 second for his first run on the freestyle after a short break from his first swim with the medley which barely passed at 5 minutes 28 seconds. ‘You give in a huge burst of energy but then you start lagging and this is what’s going to make you fail.’

 

Charles glowers at the water and feels scorned – at the principal for landing this on him out of nowhere and at himself for having shoved himself into this corner.

 

A hand settles on his shoulder, drawing his attention away from glaring daggers at the undeserving pool tiles but he can’t force himself to meet Erik’s eyes.

 

‘We’re making good progress.’

 

 _Are we?_ He can’t help but think pessimistically as he dunks his head underwater to avoid the habit he’s recently developed of saying things he doesn’t mean to. He’s mindful of Erik’s hand still on his shoulder as he sinks beneath the water but he doesn’t resurface until half a minute later when his lungs start to quiver and crave for new air.

 

‘How long did it take you?’ He asks once he’s out of the water.

 

‘What do you mean?’ Erik asks in return, uncertain about the context.

 

Charles takes in a deep breath and tries to reign in his growing emotions before it spills over the edge. ‘How long did it take you to get to where you are now?’

 

‘Years,’ he answers him honestly. ‘I’ve been swimming since my first lesson as a baby.’

 

 _He’s a natural_ , and the idea of it is enough to send him over. ‘And how can they expect me to do 17 years worth of training all in just eight weeks?!’

 

Erik doesn’t look surprised by his outburst, if anything he looks as if he’d been preparing for it. The thought of it burns a hole in his chest and Charles just wants to scream out his frustrations at the unfairness of it all. He’s so close to going to Oxford, his life-long dream and goal he’s been striving for over ten years, and it’s all going to go to waste just because of eight sports credit he never even knew he needed in the first place.

 

Charles fumes silently in anger and shame as he treads the water, just wishing for it to swallow him whole and drown him, dangerously lost in his own mind and dangerously close to losing himself to it until another hand settles on his other shoulder bringing him back to reality. He has to fight back tears of resentment as he looks up to meet Erik’s eyes and is surprised when he doesn’t see pity or even emoty encouragement but understanding instead.

 

‘Lesson 3,’ he begins while on his knees, ‘don’t compare yourself with others. It’s one thing to strive for a goal; it’s another to bind yourself to it until you see nothing else. Don’t be—’

 

Charles finds himself holding his breath at Erik’s sudden stop and notices the tight clench of his jaw, the slightest grit coming from his teeth and his stricken look.

 

A second ticks by and they both breathe.

 

‘Don’t be like me.’

 

\--

 

Realizations occur during all hours of the day. In the morning one might realize that one of their socks has slipped off their foot in the middle of a cold night during their sleep. In the afternoon one might realize they’ve forgotten to eat their lunch even though it’s already been some hours passed midday and just a couple more before dinner. In the evening one might realize that an assignment is due the very next morning and that they’ve only completed 50% of it. For Charles it’s the realization that he’s spent the last three weeks juggling his studying with his training and resting enough between those activities to do the same tasks again the very next day. Repeat: _three weeks_.

 

This is not the kind of realization you want to have at the start of a jump before a large puddle.

 

‘Are you okay?’ Erik asks him with a shout as he runs back the short distance between them after having gone ahead fifty meters or so.

 

Charles remains gobsmacked on the ground, uncaring about the way his clothes are getting uncomfortable from the mud and rainwater soaking through. After a few seconds of stunned silence he’s hauled to his feet.

 

‘What the heck was that about?’ Erik asks again while the brunet busies himself with clawing the mud out of his hair and wipes as much of it off his face as he possibly can.

 

‘Nothing,’ he says unconvincingly and belatedly spits out a bit of grass that somehow found its way to sit between his teeth and cheek.

 

‘Nothing,’ he repeats skeptically.

 

A panicked noise escapes him as the realization hits him once again, like a freight train out of nowhere. ‘We’re barely making any progress at all.’

 

‘Yes, we are,’ Erik tries to convince him otherwise with a comforting hand to his shoulder.

 

 ‘No, we’re _not_ ,’ he snaps as he knocks his hand away and gives up trying to clean the mud off his clothes. ‘I can barely swim eight laps in 11 minutes and I’m supposed to swim the length of the pool 30 times in 35? It’s impossible!’

 

‘It’s not!’

 

‘I’m not you!’ Charles yells loud enough for his voice to reverberate around the empty field and scare off a few birds still nesting in their trees.

 

‘Nobody is asking you to be!’ He shouts in return and grabs hold of the brunet’s shoulders to shake him once. ‘You’re scared, I understand, but panicking isn’t going to help you get anywhere closer to where you want to be.’

 

‘Of course you’d say that,’ he can’t help but sneer, ‘it’s not as if you’ve been trying your damndest to get into Oxford for the better part of _10 years_ only for the rug to be pulled out from beneath your feet just _months_ away from graduation.’ He shakes his head, doesn’t see the point in explaining himself as he frees himself from Erik’s grip and begins to stalk towards the changing rooms. ‘The chances of me being able to do all of this in the eight weeks I’ve been given are practically nonexistent. It’s finished; we’re done.’ He can’t be bothered anymore, not with only five weeks left to the deadline, but before he can exit the field Erik catches up to him and stops him with a firm “no”.

 

‘Excuse me?’ He feels his entire body shaking from indignation. He wants so desperately to lash out, to draw first blood, and the thought scares him ( _this isn’t you_ ) but he’s too angry to give it full attention.

 

‘I said _no_ , because the Charles Xavier I’ve known for the past three years doesn’t give up. He finds another solution to his problems and he forges ahead until it’s the correct one, even if it takes him more than ten tries.’

 

‘You don’t know _anything_ about who I am,’ he says in an angry whisper, his voice shaking from the effort of keeping himself in check.

 

‘I know more than I care to admit.’

 

‘You—’ Charles pauses, feels his rage boil down to a simmer as he replays Erik’s words. The thought nags at him; something about it is off, but with his emotions playing up from all the accumulated stress of everything that’s been happening in the last three weeks he can’t piece it all together.

 

‘Besides, you said it yourself,’ Erik says suddenly, bringing a halt to Charles’ thoughts.

 

‘What?’ His mind is a sudden blank at the abrupt shift, his previous contemplation gone in favor of a more pressing matter.

 

‘ _Practically nonexistent_ means that there’s still a chance, however slight.’

 

Charles feels something happening inside his chest and stomach but he can’t tell if they’re stones sinking and filling him with dread of if they’re butterflies ready to take flight. ‘Don’t tell me—’

 

‘Yes, it’s about time we picked up the pace. How confident are you with your studies?’

 

He shrugs. ‘Confident enough to get at least a 90% average score on all of them.’

 

‘Can you settle for that?’

 

‘Well—’ he stops himself as he quickly weighs the pros and cons of decreasing his study time in favor of more training but there’s no question about it: there’s little meaning to a high mark if he doesn’t have those eight sports credits to show for it. He nods, decides the losses are acceptable enough. ‘It’s all or nothing; what’s your plan?’

 

Erik grins and it’s almost the same intimidating smile as Charles remembers from their first meeting but there’s something else behind the toothy grin, infectious _sheer_ _determination_.

 

Charles braces himself for what could be the wildest end of his final high school year.

 

\--

 

To the consideration of some, five weeks can be no time at all or can take forever to pass. To a few others, five weeks is less of a measurement of time and more of a pathway towards a goal. For Charles it is the latter, with everything he’s worked for riding on a final objective comprised of three tasks with a deadline of just over five weeks. It’s not much but he’s set to make sure it all ends with a graduation cap on his head and a certificate in his hands.

 

But first things first, it’s time for a change in the training schedule.

 

‘We’ll start off each morning with a run. No more alternations; we’ll keep it as regular as possible.’

 

‘Half an hour?’

 

‘No, we’ll bump it up to 45 minutes.’

 

Charles makes a face, thinks about all the times he’s ended an exercise session red-faced and panting like an asthmatic, but easily lets it go and accepts the term for the sake of earning his final eight credits. _No holding back._

 

Erik continues to draw up a plan for the brunet with not only rowing and swimming kept on his daily exercise but also including lifting weights, rope climbing and crawling.

 

‘I’m sorry but did you just write “crawling”?’ Charles can’t help but say in utter disbelief.

 

‘Yes, military cadets do it each day as part of their normal work out.’

 

 _My god_ , he thinks and realizes this is probably enough to confirm his suspicions of Erik having a relative that once served in the army.

 

‘It’s more or less the same principals as swimming where you use your entire body to propel yourself forward but with the added exception of having the earth’s gravity on you instead of the other way around. Once you’re done with crawling, swimming will come more easily to you,’ Erik explains as he pulls the page away from his notebook and hands it over for the brunet to keep.

 

‘This is for everyday?’ He asks as he takes in the long list of things he needs to do and wonders if he’ll survive this entire ordeal to see the beginnings of his university days.

 

‘Everyday,’ he nods then suddenly asks him, ’which gym do you go to?’

 

‘Pardon?’Charles looks up from the paper, unaware he’s still making a face that reveals his absolute dread for his new situation.

 

Erik pauses for a fraction of a second, the corners of his lips twitching up to form an amused smirk at the expression on Charles’ face. ‘I’ll join you for training in the weekends from now on. Just tell me which gym you go to and I’ll meet you there.’

 

Charles hesitates.

 

The smile falls off Erik’s face as he narrows his eyes at the brunet. ‘You _have_ been training in the weekend, haven’t you?’

 

‘Of course I have,’ he says with conviction. ‘I need those credits.’

 

‘Good, then give me the address. We’ll meet at the usual time and go from there.’

 

At first, Charles is reluctant but eventually gives in as he writes down his address on the corner of a blank page in Erik’s notebook then proceeds to explain that he’s been training at home rather than the local gym – he does, after all, have his own pool and fully-equipped exercise room. He gives ample warning that his house is big but what he _failed_ to warn about was exactly  **how big** it actually  is.

 

‘Obviously our definitions of what someone would consider “big” are on two completely different levels,’ Erik says, not quite able to tear his eyes away from the sheer size of the house.

 

‘If you’ve read a dictionary with a thesaurus included then you’ll know “big” is synonymous for large, gigantic, vast, substantial, extensive, massive, sizable, enormous—’

 

‘Yes, alright,’ he cuts in with a roll of his eyes and a smirk, ‘you’ve made your point.’

 

Charles smiles as he gestures for Erik to step inside. ‘Would you like a quick tour?’ He asks once he’s closed the door.

 

‘Sure, then we’ll get started on our run.’

 

What Charles then did was give the exact opposite of what one might consider a “quick” tour.

 

‘I’ll be more than happy to give you some words synonymous for “quick” starting with swift, fast, prompt, brief, short—’

 

‘Yes, yes, alright,’ Charles can’t help but laugh as he finishes tying off his shoelaces and begins his warm-up stretches for his 45-minute run with Erik.

 

\--

 

They’ve reach the halfway point of their eight week session and Charles suddenly feels weak-kneed, dizzy, breathless and on the verge of cracking his head wide open to bleed across the floor from the accumulation of the past month’s stresses finally catching up on him. Charles falls to his knees, hardly registers the pain he feels on either kneecaps as Erik lends his support and stops him from becoming more acquainted with the ground.

 

‘You’re pushing yourself too hard,’ Erik says as he readjusts his forearm so that it’s not compressing on the brunet’s throat and helps him settle to a more comfortable position by the poolside.

 

Charles shakes his head and regrets the action as soon as he’s done it as he squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to stop everything from spinning around so wildly. He can barely understand the words Erik is speaking, almost as if they’re just white noise going in one ear and out the next. He feels faint; he can’t breathe; he absolutely cannot think. And—

 

‘Hold it in.’

 

Everything else is a blur – he doesn’t notice getting up and walking towards the changing room, he doesn’t notice the door being pushed open and being led inside, he doesn’t notice going towards the toilets until he’s inside the stall and heaving everything he’s ever eaten today and half of yesterday into the bowl.

 

There’s a hand rubbing soothing circles on his back as he continues to empty his stomach out but he can barely process this, his mind too concerned with trying to keep the rest of his internal organs where it should be.

 

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ Erik sighs mostly to himself as he smoothes the brunet’s hair away from his face and continues to speak to him softly.

 

His world tilts more times than he’s comfortable with but there’s nothing left in his stomach to give up. Charles makes it home somehow and is coaxed into bed without much effort. He remembers only snatches of moments and pieces of muffled conversation that may or may not be centered around him. He remembers speaking but he can’t recall his exact words or if any of what he’s said was even coherent at all.

 

Charles feels like he should be worried about the state he’s degraded himself to but he’s too tired and too drained to give it more than a cursory thought as he slips off into a dreamless sleep.

 

\---

 

‘So, Erik,’ Raven begins as soon as he steps out of Charles’ bedroom. ‘How did you and Charles meet?’

 

He balks at the question and almost closes the door with more force than he means to. ‘Excuse me?’ He can’t help but say with the slightest of cracks in his voice.

 

Her lips turn up into a smirk as she folds her arms across her chest. ‘Charles is my brother; I know _all_ of his friends and you don’t meet _any_ of the usual criteria, so I’m going to ask again: how did you and Charles meet?’

 

Erik calms, settles the emotions on his face into a casual expression as he regards the blonde. He’s only ever seen Raven or heard about her from afar – a girl with looks, smarts and a great personality to boot. It’s only now he realizes he wants to keep it that way: far, _far_ away.

 

‘Ask Charles,’ he tells her instead as he makes his way towards the front door, a quick and easy rebuff. ‘It’s more his story to tell than mine.’ She trails after him until they reach the foyer and he leaves, shutting the door behind him with hopes it’ll be the end of that.

 

\---

 

He’s wrong, of course.

 

\---

 


	4. Chapter 4

\---

 

** Interlude **

 

\---

 

It takes Erik 3 times longer than usual to get home and by the time he does the sun is just on the verge of disappearing over the horizon and his mama is already well underway with cooking dinner. It smells like she’s making stew and normally he would be feeling ravenous this close to dinnertime but he doesn’t have the appetite for anything today, not after what’s happened.

 

‘Mama, I’m home,’ he calls out as he drops his sports bag by the stairs while toeing off his shoes before tucking them on the lowest shelf next the door.

 

‘You are very late! Now come and tell Mama what you did today,’ she tells him from within the kitchen.

 

He groans quietly under his breath but does as he’s told even though he’d rather go to his room and bury himself under books and books of revisions. He sits by the dining table and leaves his bag under his chair while he watches mama taste the stew before adding more seasoning until it's to her liking. Once done she closes the lid over it and leaves the pot to cook slowly over low heat.

 

Its half past 6 in the evening with another half an hour to go before papa comes home and another half an hour more before dinner is ready. Erik doesn’t think he’ll be eating much tonight.

 

‘You look very sad, _schatz_ ,’ she says as she takes a quick peek into the oven to make sure the bread isn’t browning too rapidly.

 

‘I’m not sad, Mama,’ he denies as she lowers the oven temperature down a further 10 degrees.

 

‘Don’t lie to me,’ she warns sternly, though her expression softens to one of worry and understanding as she takes the seat opposite him. ‘It’s alright if you don’t want to talk but never lie.’

 

‘Yes, Mama, I know,’ he says quietly as he lowers his head on top of his folded arms and tries not to think about how pale Charles had suddenly become during their day’s training session. He’d seen it coming; he’d been there himself, but he didn’t think to stop or even ask Charles to slow down.

 

 _I should’ve_.

 

He remembers how Charles had barely been able to walk, let alone stand, and Erik realizes everything that happened today had been his fault: he’d pushed too soon, changed the training schedule too early; too much accumulation of stress and not enough room to recover from it.

 

Erik exhales explosively as he stands and picks up his bag from under the chair. ‘I’ll go shower before Papa comes home,’ he tells her as calmly as he can so he doesn’t worry her more than he already has and then leaves the kitchen. He picks up his sports bag along the way and hurries his way up the stairs to his room two at a time. He closes the door behind him and slides to the floor with his back against the grain, thinking back on the clammy skin and the terrible shakes he felt on Charles’ body as he helped the brunet home.

 

He can still feel it.

 

Charles has been making good and steady progress, and Erik had ruined it.

 

\--

 

Erik barely sleeps that night.

 

\--

 

Charles, surprisingly, is not at home when Erik goes to visit him the next day. Instead, Raven tells him, he’s already left the house and headed off to school.

 

‘When Charles wants something done he’ll get it done, come rain or shine,’ she says with a roll of her eyes, her exasperation of her brother belied by the fond smile on her lips.

 

‘Even when he’s sick?’

 

‘For better or for worse, in sickness and in health.’

 

‘Don’t say the last part,’ he warns without bite as he starts heading down the driveway. He estimates the distance between here and there as a brisk 20-minute walk but he can cut it down to a little over 10 minutes if he decides to hurry.

 

It’s half past 7; Charles has probably been running around the field for about half an hour already and knowing this is motivation enough for Erik to tighten the grip on his bags and make a run for it.

 

The drive is long but he’s out of it in 20-seconds. He’s in town by 5 minutes, passed the shops in 3 and at the end of the road by 4. The school’s just ahead and he can already see the field where Charles is running towards him with his eyes focused on his feet. Erik drops his bags on the grass as soon as he reaches it and surprises the brunet by joining the run at his side.

 

‘Erik!’ Charles shouts out a little breathlessly and almost trips.

 

He grins at the reaction but he feels equally as breathless from his run as he asks the brunet, ‘I thought you were going to have a sleep-in today. I would’ve understood,’ _especially after what happened._

 

‘I can’t afford to,’ he tells him and slows down to a pace comfortable enough to run and hold a conversation with. ‘I’ve only got 4 more weeks to go.’

 

His smile fades at the reminder. ‘I know,’ _I’m sorry_ , he doesn’t say out loud.

 

They continue running laps around the field for another 15 minutes before slowing down to a leisurely walk. Erik decides to use this time to suggest another change in the training schedule, easier but no less effective. He talks about getting rid of weight-lifting and rope-climbing from the schedule but—

 

‘Is this about yesterday?’ Charles asks him crossly despite the pink of embarrassment on his cheeks.

 

‘I want you to get those 8 credits, I do, but I don’t want it to be at the expense of your own health.’

 

‘It was one time,’ he insists. ‘I pushed myself too hard and I ignored it for too long. I thought it would get better if I just kept going.’

 

His temper suddenly snaps. ‘What did I say? I said to keep both your body and mind in sync. I said specifically _not_ to strain yourself and you did the exact opposite of it.’

 

‘You also said perseverance and commitment!’ Charles argues in return. ‘That’s what I’m aiming for!’

 

‘What you did yesterday had nothing to do with determination and everything to do with desperation!’ He shouts and catches a look of hurt pass the brunet’s eyes. He falters and realizes belatedly he should’ve kept it to himself but it’s too late. ‘I told you to pace yourself,’ he finishes weakly and quickly walks away to where he’d previously dropped his bags. He doesn’t expect Charles to follow, or even speak to him, so he’s reasonably surprised to see the brunet standing just three feet away from him when he turns around again.

 

‘The other day,’ he begins carefully, ‘what did you mean when you said “don’t be like me”?’

 

Erik sighs as he rubs a hand along the back of his neck. ‘If you knew how I used to be a few years ago then you’ll know exactly what I mean.’

 

4 years is a long time by anyone’s standards but the memories are still fresh in his mind. Every time he thinks back on those days he feels a sense of shame fill him from head to toe. He remembers feeling nothing but anger day-in and day-out, at his teammates for being slower than him, for not trying as hard as him and at himself for being less than perfect. He remembers losing hours to swimming, days to training and nothing else because nothing else had been important enough for his attention. Not even his family.

 

‘What happened?’

 

‘It’s a long story,’ Erik tries to avoid as he starts heading towards the gym hoping to end the discussion there and then.

 

‘We’ve got time,’ he says as he walks alongside him.

 

 _Stubborn_ , he thinks and finds the corner of his lips twitching up as he tells Charles that if they’d met during one of his more competitive streaks then he would’ve given him _hell_.

 

‘What do you call this, then?’ He balks in surprise.

 

‘Purgatory,’ he says with a wide grin and feels satisfied when he sees a full-body shudder from the brunet.

 

\---

 

‘What about when you said “I know more than I care to admit”?’ Charles asks after they’ve finished a short 30-minute session on the rowing machine.

 

Erik grins rather than answers because there’s no way he can tell Charles he’s noticed him from the two classes they’ve shared together for the last 3 years without sounding weird and/or creepy. No, definitely better to keep that one to himself.

 

\---

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I am TERRIBLE at chapter estimations. I AM NEVER DOING THAT AGAIN.

 

\---

 

_His skin feels chilled, no doubt thanks to the water molecules still clinging desperately to the fine hairs on his body. He’s floating calmly on the surface of the pool with his feet submerged and his arms spread on either side of his body with the tips of his fingers just touching the water. He dips his head enough to keep his ears below the surface of the pool and where the only thing he can hear is his beating heart and his own quiet breathing._

_Here, it almost feels like he’s up in the clouds._

 

\---

 

It began with an idle thought which lead to the question of: how much air from his lungs does he need to expel to fully sink to the bottom of the pool. Charles finds that it’s actually not much but he’s never been very good at holding his breath for long so each experience of sitting at the deep-end lasts no more than a stretch of 30 seconds.

 

He likes it underwater, likes the lack of noise and the sensation of floating like one might do out in space. He enjoys the reflected blue tones of the tiles in the pool he’s claimed all to himself and enjoys the fact that he can stop caring about the world, even if only for a little while.

 

His lungs begin to quiver, a sign he needs fresh air in his lungs, so he kicks off towards the surface and comes up with a gasp and a laugh meant for nobody else. He stays afloat a while, lets his heart calm to a slower pace before he takes another deep, deep breath and swims his way back to the bottom of the pool, allowing a trail of bubbles to mark his path behind him. He settles on the bottom, not quite flat on his back, and closes his eyes.

 

It feels like a completely different world.

 

Charles hears a distant _thud_ with soft popping noises accompanying it but he can’t place the sound; it’s familiar and yet…

 

A hand suddenly grabs his arm and he almost breathes in a lungful of water as he opens his eyes and sees a dark figure, blurred and wearing their school’s uniform as he’s being hurriedly pulled closer towards air. They both break the surface and Charles realizes that it’s just Erik who’s goes from looking panicked to distressed to angry in a matter of seconds.

 

‘What the hell is wrong with you?! I thought you’d drowned!’ He shouts, his voice loud enough to make Charles wince after being left in silence for so long.

 

 ‘Dead bodies float,’ he says without tact but then hastily corrects his mistake. ‘Only after a few days, though. Almost every crime dramas I’ve seen are partially false and potentially flawed.’

 

Erik shakes his head, enraged, and shoves Charles away from him as he swims towards the edge of the pool and pulls himself out of the water. There’s an undignified squelch to Erik’s steps but Charles can’t find it within himself to feel vindicated or even smug about the role-reversal. Instead, he just dips his head underwater for a quick refresher and waits for Erik to come back.

 

He doesn’t.

 

\--

 

Over the next couple of days Charles notices a change in Erik’s demeanor and a fierceness in his behavior that Charles has never experienced from him before. It’s a different level to what he’s used to and every time he wants to say something about it a look at Erik’s cross expression is enough to still his tongue and simply endure.

 

Eventually, on the third morning, Charles makes an attempt to brave his black mood.

 

‘I’m sorry for scaring you the way I did. I thought I was alone,’ he tries to reason but finds that it doesn’t even come close to defending his actions.

 

Erik ignores him as he continues to tie his shoelaces in a double-knot with a deep frown on his face. He repeats the same action on his other shoe and just when Charles is about to start running without bothering to do his warm-ups Erik speaks.

 

‘My uncle drowned,’ he says quietly as he tightens the second loop and straightens, staring across the field with his gaze focused inwards, his shoulders tense and his knuckles white with tension. ‘They were doing a training exercise with full military equipment strapped to them – guns, shells, defused grenades and everything.’

 

Charles feels a sudden skip in his chest at this: confessional proof that Erik _does_ indeed have a relative that once served in the army but the feeling of victory quickly fades, replaced by a hollow gap instead.

 

‘They misjudged the depth of the marsh,’ he explains as he looks down at his feet, seeing something Charles isn’t privy to, then shakes his head. ‘No, not that; it’d been raining heavily the past few days and what used to be a marsh that came no higher than their sternum suddenly had deep pockets in the mud where a single step was enough to sink them under until the only thing anybody could see were their outstretched hands waving above the water. The equipment weighed them down and made it difficult for the rest of the crew to rescue them without sinking under the water themselves.’ He stills, and it’s moments before he comes back to himself and remembers where he is. ‘Two others died along with my uncle that day.’

 

Charles opens his mouth but finds he has no words, nothing but generic and clichéd lines that he feels no longer hold any genuine meaning behind them. He closes his mouth and feels foolish for what he’d done and for making Erik remember something so painful despite that it had never been his intention to hurt.

 

Erik turns to him, making eye contact after days of quiet avoidance. ‘I’m only telling you to justify why I’ve been angry for the past few days.’

 

‘It’s more than reasonable,’ he says quietly as he lightly kicks at the ground, feeling the need to make his body do something to dispel the sudden awkwardness in his posture. ‘My father died when I was young,’ he starts to say, though he doesn’t know why. ‘It was a lab accident. The details concerning his death are…classified.’ He thinks there’s more to it than that but he doubts he’ll ever find out. ‘The funeral was closed-casket; it was empty.’

 

The skies had been thick with clouds that day, not quite on the verge of rain but everybody who had attended brought their umbrellas in preparation for the worst. The autumn breeze had been warm, bringing with it the very last breaths of summer, and it made sitting in a full suit uncomfortable.

 

That was 10 years ago.

 

‘Sometimes I wonder which one is worse: being told the details surrounding a person’s death or being told nothing at all.’

 

‘No comparison.’ Charles says without hesitation. ‘Death is already a dreadful topic on its own.’

 

Erik gives a small nod of agreement as he turns his attention down to the far end of the field where the finish line of the hundred-meter dash is usually marked. Charles watches him as he loosens his white-knuckled fists and gently shakes the tension out from his shoulders.

 

A second ticks by and they both breathe.

 

‘Come on,’ Erik gives an easy grin as he begins his leg stretches. ‘I’ll race you the final lap.’

 

Charles feels something lift from inside him, a heaviness he hardly noticed until it was relieved from him as he copies Erik’s movements at a more leisurely pace. ‘How will I know it’s the final lap?’

 

‘When I gun on ahead without you.’ He doesn’t bother going through all of his usual warm-ups before he starts running down the six lanes that circled the field.

 

‘Cheating!’ He shouts after him and tries to catch up despite the large head-start.

 

‘Lesson 4: speed, not haste!’

 

\--

 

The assembly hall has been converted to the size of a large classroom with a width of eight desks and a length of thirteen with ample space in-between each to ensure little to no acts of dishonesty. Charles finds himself sitting on the sixth row, fifth desk from the back.

 

He’s surrounded by pens scratching, pages turning, sniffles of a runny nose and the occasional cough from an irritated throat. Along with the standard sound of the supervisors’ footsteps going up and down the hall this is the tune and rhythm of a typical examination.

 

Each theory assessment lasts a minimum of 45 minutes and a maximum of two hours with the first 15 allowed for reading only. Charles never leaves before his two hours are up despite usually being one of the first people to finish. He stays till the very last second available, checking and rechecking his answers and adding more to his explanations if required. He is never less than meticulous with his papers even if he considers them easy. If anything, he finds it’s always the simple ones that require the most attention because they’re the ones he’s most likely to get wrong. Confidence is key but overconfidence is not something he wants to cultivate in large doses.He’s learned his lesson and he knows the price of failure.

 

Learning from one’s mistakes is always going to be a part of going through the motions of living but at this critical point in his life he knows failing is not an option he’s willing to entertain, not with a spot of attendance at Oxford University on the line.

 

His lungs begin to quiver and he has to force himself to remember to breathe – inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. He clears his mind and starts again, turning back to the first question to read through his answer and making adjustments along the way.

 

At the end of their allocated time Charles leaves the hall feeling confident (but not overly so) that he has achieved a satisfactory grade.

 

 _One down, six more to go_ , he thinks to himself as he makes his way towards the gym for a short exercise session before his next exam which is set to start in about three hours. He’s not surprised to find the room occupied by another person. If anything, he’s come to expect Erik to either be in the pool doing some laps or in the gym using one of the equipments.

 

Erik’s running on the treadmill listening to music on a volume loud enough for Charles to hear even above the sound of his footfalls and the whir of the machine. He yanks one of the earphones out and reprimands him. ‘The chances of becoming deaf increases with the volume you continue listening your music to,’ he points out as Erik slows the machine down to a brisk walk.

 

‘But it helps drown out your constant nagging,’ he smirks as he switches off his music player and tucks it back into his jacket pocket.

 

‘I do not _nag_ ,’ Charles protests as he leaves his bag next to Erik’s by the corner and decides to occupy the cycling machine for the next fifteen minutes or so. He sets the resistance to a moderate level to exercise to, enough to feel a good and healthy strain to his limbs but not enough to tire him out before his next theory assessment.

 

‘How was it?’ Erik asks as he takes up the bike next to him, not bothering to readjust the configuration before going at it in an easy pace.

 

He shrugs but feels the affect is lost from his body movements. ‘I think it went well,’ he’s more than certain he’ll achieve a pass at the very least. ‘What about yours?’

 

‘Good enough,’ he says and starts pedaling in the opposite direction. ‘Have you found out which days your swimming tests are being held?’

 

Charles’ heart skips a beat at the reminder. ‘No, and I can’t even begin to describe how worried I am about that.’

 

Erik stops as he turns his body towards the brunet, ignoring the whir of the gears still in motion. ‘You’ve done more in six weeks than I’ve seen some of the guys on my team do in three months.’

 

He shakes his head, buoyed by the compliment but still finds himself weighed down by reality. ‘That doesn’t guarantee anything, especially not those eight credits I still need.’

 

‘We still have two weeks to go.’

 

‘Three weeks actually!’

 

They both snap their attention to the doorway, eyes wide in surprise at the sight of Mr. Shaw and a dark blue clipboard folder in his hands. Charles’ feet freeze and he feels dread renew its hold on him as he takes in the news that this is it: this is his last chance to earn those credits before the year is out and he only has three weeks left to train.

 

‘Your assessor will be Mr. Howlett, and you will be tested on the four-hundred meter individual medley and freestyle first with a day’s rest in-between before your final fifteen-hundred meter freestyle,’ the older man says as he opens the folder and searches through the papers for what he’s looking for, letting out a small cheer in victory when he finds what he needs. ‘Here’s your reformed examination schedule and I wish you good luck,’ he smiles as he unclips a folded sheet of paper from the folder and hands it over to the brunet.

 

‘Thank you for informing me, sir.’ Charles numbly takes it with one slightly shaking hand as he tries to plaster on a smile but it feels awkward on his lips. Even his words sound as if he’d forced it out of his throat.

 

Even after their principal has already left the room to return to his duties the tension is still there, threatening to swallow Charles whole. He doesn’t realize how heavily he’s breathing until he feels Erik try to talk him into taking deeper, calmer breaths.

 

There’s no discernible changes to the five other theoretical assessments he has to do and he’d completely forgotten that his physical assessment would be split across two days. It’s not a total of seven exams, it’s eight.

 

 _The unluckiest number I have ever encountered_ , Charles thinks to himself as he folds the page again and again and throws it in the direction of his bag, uncaring where it lands.

 

‘I know you’ll be fine, Charles.’

 

A strangled noise escapes him as he turns to Erik with panicked eyes. ‘I have to be, or else it’s goodbye to Oxford.’

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the more difficult chapters, if only because I didn't know how to start it and I wasn't sure if continuing on from where we last left off was a good idea or not. I fiddled with about at least a handful of ideas before I found one that, while I still wasn't entirely satisfied with, worked well enough to go on with.
> 
> UGHHHHSDJFHSJHGDFJSGCUESGEFGJHSGFJHSD I AM GOING TO CONCENTRATE ON FINISHING ONE OF MY ASSIGNMENTS NOW!!! XFJHSKJDFHSKHFKSHDFJHSRUHCIISHIRF WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF?! WHY?! WHY DO I START SOMETHING WHEN I'M ALREADY IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING ELSE?! WHY?! WHY?! I'M A GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT, THAT'S WHY!
> 
> And now we shall resume with another dose of Sink or Swim.

 

\---

 

_Charles can feel his whole body shaking from frustration and anger (and fear). He clenches his fists as he turns to leave, uncaring that he’s still far from his intended goal and that he’s just days away from his final examination. There are lines he would never cross but Erik has crossed it for him._

_‘Lesson five,’ Erik tells him before Charles disappears through the double doors, ‘the strength of your ability is measured by the strength of your belief. Mama told me that pessimism breeds indecision; you need to think about the real reason why you’re doing this: who you’re doing this for.’_

_Honestly, Charles couldn’t find it within himself to care at all._

 

\---

 

The ballroom is exactly as he expects yet not as all as he had imagined. The newly installed crystal chandeliers are over the top as usual, as are the rest of the decorations placed all across the room. Charles can’t tell if the theme is leaning towards roman mythology or if Kurt Marko suddenly developed a strong liking to marble statues. It’s more likely the latter: _because obviously, Greek gods and goddesses are the epitome of wealth_ , he thinks sarcastically.

 

‘I’m so bored. I’d rather be at home studying than watch Kurt suck up to mum,’ Raven whines behind a flute glass full of sparkling grape juice.

 

Charles can’t help the smile on his face as he inclines his head towards her ear. ‘Coming from you, that says an awful lot. But, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m sure you meant to say you’d rather be studying _physics_ with Hank instead, yes?’

 

She stifles a gasp behind a hand as her expression morphs from one of surprise to glee. ‘Oh, don’t tell me you’re jealous now.’

 

‘Jealous, me?’ He scoffs. ‘Hardly. If anything, I will pray for his continued good health. He’ll need it.’

 

Raven retorts with a light nudge to his ticklish ribs, almost resulting with him spilling his glass of ginger beer for the floor, or Raven’s blue silk dress, to enjoy. After a short giggle and a stern look from mother who just happened to by passing by en route to the open bar, they settle down and continue on in a more or less civilized fashion.

 

‘Hey, so tell me; what happened to you today?’ She asks as she takes a small dainty sip of her drink and gives a passing lady a sweet smile.

 

‘I had my biology exam.’ He tells her and feels his bubbly mood dissipate into the air. He gulps down the last of his drink and belatedly realizes they’ve already gone half-stale.

 

‘No. it can’t be that,’ she insists and pulls him towards the open bar for another drink just in time to see their mother saunter off with a glass in hand to socialize with another group of people. ‘You came home all tired and grumpy. Well, grumpier than usual,’ she amends as she sits on one of the bar stools and pats the unoccupied seat next to her for Charles to take.

 

‘I’m under a lot of stress, Raven,’ he sighs and hopes she’ll accept it as it is and not ask for more details. But honestly: _this is Raven you’re talking about. When does she **ever** let anything go?_

 

‘Biology is your last exam. You told me that when we got our schedules, so why are you still stressing?’

 

He feels a headache coming along; a slow and dull throb behind his right eye. ‘Can we not discuss it tonight, please?’

 

Raven makes a show of considering it but plows on regardless. ‘Does this have anything to do with Erik coming over every weekend for the past couple of weeks?’

 

He frowns at the mention of his name, thinks back to just this afternoon where he found out that his best time for the fifteen-hundred meter freestyle was over the passing grade by 4 minutes and 42.8 seconds. He hears Erik’s voice telling him: _being angry won’t help. I know that look on your face – I’ve been there – but trust me when I say it’ll only make things worse for you._ Even so, Charles can’t help but feel frustrated with himself.

 

His jaw still aches from the memory of it.

 

Disappointment sits heavily in his chest and in his limbs.

 

‘Did you have a fight with Erik?’ Raven asks softly as she brings a hand to the sleeve of his suit jacket.

 

He exhales quietly through his nose and gives his empty glass to the bartender when prompted and asks for another refill. ‘It wasn’t really a fight,’ he admits and thanks the bartender for the fresh glass of ginger beer.

 

‘But you had a disagreement,’ she finishes saying for him.

 

Charles belatedly realizes he’s gritting his teeth again in very much the same manner as he did in the afternoon. The throb in his jaw is suddenly more noticeable and he has to fight to loosen the tension and ease the strain. It takes him a moment to string a sentence together without sounding as if he had to wrench it out of his throat. He fails, of course.

 

‘Yes,’ he hisses and forces a smile on his face when another family friend passes them by. It reverts back to a scowl as soon as the man is out of hearing range. ‘We had a small disagreement, but it doesn’t matter. Or, it won’t matter in a few days.’

 

Raven furrows her eyebrows in worry. ‘What’s going to happen in a few days?’

 

He mentally curses himself for the slip of the tongue and tries to flee with the excuse of needing some air. Unfortunately for him, Raven’s quicker reflexes allow her to grab the sleeve of his jacket before he can manage to get too far from her.

 

‘What’s going to happen in a few days,’ she asks forcefully and tightens her grip on his forearm. ‘And don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve been weird—weirder than usual for the last two months and the only reason why I’ve never said anything was because I know exams were just around the corner and you tend to go off in your own world for days and days.’

 

‘Raven, not now, please,’ he begs, and there must’ve been something in his tone because she lets him go without another fuss. He walks away as soon as he’s been given the chance and forces the sight of his grief-stricken sister out of his memory. He tries to fight against the guilt growing in the pit of his stomach for leaving her without offering an explanation but it continues to sit heavily in his gut like an ill omen. He turns to look over his shoulder but she’s gone, blocked from his view by the other guests.

 

Charles considers ducking into an empty balcony hidden behind the red satin drapes but accidentally happens upon a group of men he recognizes as his father’s friends and colleagues instead. He makes a move to retreat but it’s too late; he’s been spotted.

 

‘Charles!’ They all cheer at his untimely arrival.

 

He smiles as best as he can and greets all of them by name: William Bernard, Stephan Gales, Thomas Lancer, Phillip Mayes, and Jonathan Taine, all of whom Charles has known since practically the very moment he was born.

 

‘You’re looking more and more like your father with each passing year!’ William bellows heartily and almost tips the rest of his champagne over the ledge into the garden. ‘Except for your eyes, of course; those you inherited from your mother,’ he finishes with a wink.

 

‘I almost thought I saw a ghost!’ A man with graying hair cries out in surprise, buoyed by the alcohol he’s consumed. ‘It’s so wonderful to see you again, Charles.’

 

‘It’s good to see you, too, Phillip,’ he says and wonders how many bottles of champagne have already been emptied by them. Even with the drapes shutting out most of the light coming from within Charles can still see how red their cheeks have become. He thinks they’ve probably consumed half a bottle each and hopes none of them intend on driving home tonight.

 

‘Word from your mother is that you’re heading off to Oxford very soon!’ Thomas, the man who stands at the same height as Charles, says with a toothy smile. It’s obvious his endeavor to quit smoking has failed: the man still smells like fresh cigarettes and has teeth an unhealthy shade of yellow.

 

‘I’ve been accepted into the university, yes,’ he hedges and hopes he’s not sweating too visibly. He looks over his shoulder again to the closed drapes and half-wishes for someone to rescue him. He’s not sure what’s worse: to being interrogated by his sister or to lie to his father’s friends through omission.

 

‘Your father would be proud, I’m sure.’

 

Shame joins his guilt and he suddenly feels sick to his stomach. He wants to blame it on drinking too much ginger beer but he knows it’s not the case. Fortunately, none of them catch onto his plummeting mood.

 

‘Just promise us you won’t follow in his exact footsteps.’ Stephan says as he takes hold of Charles’ shoulder with concern clear in his eyes.

 

‘What do you mean?’ He asks in trepidation.

 

The older man’s mood switches from worry to teasing as easily as a coin being flipped. ‘He jumped ship! That’s what I mean!’ He shouts and succeeds in emptying the last two or three sips of champagne into the rose bushes. ‘Ran off with a woman and abandoned his fellow men!’

 

They laugh and Charles wonders what it is about the story they find so funny. It’s obvious he’s not privy to all the details of his father’s life and he’s not too sure if he wants to find out all about his father’s sordid affairs; he prefers to leave them untouched. After all, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

 

‘Brian has always been a very spirited man,’ he hears Jonathan say. ‘It was exactly his style to do what he did and I doubt anybody could’ve done the same.’

 

‘He was a lucky man.’

 

 _Not lucky enough_ , Charles thinks bitterly in memory of his father’s accident.

 

‘Sometimes I still can’t believe he left Oxford. For a girl, no less! Imagine the crisis he would’ve had on his hands if nothing went his way.’

 

‘But they did, and it resulted in marriage and two wonderful children.’

 

The words cut across his thoughts like a lance and he wonders if they’re telling the truth or if their perceptions have been skewed by too much alcohol. He hopes it’s the latter, doesn’t want to think about the implications of the former, but then he notices the halt in conversation and belatedly realizes they’re waiting on his reaction. He refocuses his attention and finds each of them smiling at him.

 

He suddenly feels uncomfortable under their kind scrutiny.

 

‘I’ve—,’ Charles’ voice breaks and he clears his throat again before speaking. ‘I thought my father finished his studies and attained both his M.D and Ph.D in Oxford,’ he can’t help but finish with a questioning lilt.

 

‘No, no, no,’ William says with an exaggerated shake of his head. ‘He graduated top of his class in Oxford for his Masters degree but he completed the rest of his studies in Columbia. Not including his side projects.’

 

‘Columbia?’ He repeats in confusion. He’d seen the certificates that used to hang in his father’s study, and although he admits the details concerning them are a bit on the fuzzy side, he’s still fairly certain that all of them had come from Oxford. Even so, he doesn’t understand why his father never mentioned _anything_ about Columbia at all, not even once. Shame, perhaps? He’ll have to dig around the basement storage to confirm his findings.

 

‘Yes, Columbia. You see, once upon a time there was a woman named Sharon.’

 

At the immediate mention of the name the drapes hiding them away is suddenly pulled away. Charles winces at the abrupt shift in lighting and hears his mother’s voice calling out to them. ‘What’s all this?’

 

‘She has been summoned!’ One of them cries out in jest.

 

Charles turns his attention to her with an expression of mixed of relief and anxiety. He wants to find out more about why his father chose finishing his university studies in Columbia over Oxford but isn’t quite sure if he wants to know all the gritty details of his father’s life choices. He wonders how mother fitted into this whole equation and wonders if father ever regretted leaving England for life in America instead.

 

‘Sorry to interrupt, boys, but it’s an hour to midnight and it’s time I take the children home. Raven still has one more exam to attend to in the morning—’

 

 _She does not_ , he contradicts.

 

‘—and Charles has another full day tomorrow, isn’t that right, dear?’

 

 _Wait, what?_ He starts to sweat suddenly and hopes she’s only saying that as an excuse to leave the party early but he can’t help the terrible sense that she knows more than he assumes she does.

 

Thomas harrumphs at the news and turns to the others with a grievous expression. ‘I’m getting a strange sense of déjà vu.’

 

‘Of our university days with Brian all over again,’ Jonathan reminisces.

 

‘Like father, like son!’ William shouts cheerfully as he raises his glass in salute.

 

‘Cheers!’ The others mimic the gesture despite some of their glasses being empty.

 

‘Goodnight, boys,’ Sharon smiles as she loops an arm around Charles’ and proceeds to lead him through the statue-populated ballroom away from the balcony. He barely remembers to give the others a quick farewell before they’re too far away as his mother continues to guide him towards the direction of the main entrance hall where Raven is already wrapped up in her matching silk shawl and ready to go.

 

Raven looks as if she has a dozen questions already lined up for him and Charles can’t help but feel the exact same way in regards to mother. He desperately wants to ask about his father; her husband, but wonders if it’s a line he’s not meant to cross.

 

 _Only one way to find out_ , he reasons as he steels himself with a deep breath. ‘Mother, about—’

 

‘Yes, yes, darling. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about Oxford,’ she says as she slips on her an overcoat and thanks the valet for bringing their car around for her. He wonders if it’s even safe for her to drive – there’s a faint blush on her cheeks but he can’t tell if it’s her constantly renewed application of make-up or if it’s from the alcohol in her system.

 

‘Should you be driving, mum?’ Raven asks what Charles has been thinking as they get into the back seat and watch as their mother go through her ritual of checking and readjusting the settings of the seat, the mirrors and the height of the steering wheel.

 

‘I haven’t had a drop to drink for over two hours, dear, so yes; I’m fit to drive. Now let’s go home,’ she tells them as she turns the ignition on and puts the car into gear. As soon as they’ve driven out onto the main road in the direction of their home she lets out a relived sigh. ‘Goodness, I don’t know how your father puts up with that man. If I have to spend another minute with Kurt Marko I swear I will become _very_ cross.’

 

Raven lets out an undignified snort of laughter as she scoots closer until she’s sitting on the very edge of the seat. ‘I think he was trying to court you.’

 

‘It’s a terrible effort, if you ask me. Gone are the days where courting used to be an honored tradition,’ she sighs wistfully as she slows to a stop at the lights. Raven uses this opportunity to ask her a string of questions of what being in a courtship had been like and then proceeds to moan that she was born in the wrong generation, as always.

 

With the lack of traffic on the road and the lights being rather obliging the drive back home takes no more than fifteen minutes. Charles’ stomach feels as if it’s been tied in knots and he still can’t tell if it’s from his overconsumption of ginger beer or if he’s feeling neurotic from built-up anticipation. As soon as they’re through the front door Raven gives him a pointed look as if to say: _I’m not done with you yet_ , before she sings out her goodnights and heads off in the direction of her bedroom. Meanwhile, Charles can only stare as mother disappears into the old study that’s been half-converted into a living room.

 

He can hear her opening up a bottle of alcohol and tipping it into a glass before slipping the cap back on, probably to catch up on the two hours of champagne she’d missed previously. Charles readies himself with two deep breaths before following her in.

 

Her overcoat is lying on the back of father’s favorite arm chair with her shoes sitting at the foot of it. She’s taken the decorative pins from her hair and laid them on the table next to her glass of scotch but leaves the pearl necklace where it is. He watches as she picks up her glass, takes a small sip and turns to Charles with an expression that is mixed fondness and grief.

 

‘Now, about your father,’

 

Charles sits down to what he feels may be the longest night of his life.

 

\--

 

Running is a meditative sport, a time for introspection. He finds that it’s easy for him to lose all track of time to his steps, to the motions of his arms, to inhaling through his nose and breathing out through his mouth. He finds it’s easy to lose his sense of self and forget his reasons for why he’s running in the first place. Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he runs in the hopes it will help make his problems all go away; swept under the rug.

 

It doesn’t work, of course. It never does.

 

A high-pitched whistle catches his attention and Charles slows to a stop just outside the patio leading into the kitchen where Raven is nibbling on a bit of toast smothered with an overly generous layer of strawberry jam. He raises an eyebrow in question while he concentrates on his breathing.

 

‘Spill,’ she says around a mouthful of breakfast.

 

‘Why do you want to know?’ He asks with an air of irritation. It’s too early in the morning for an interrogation from Raven, _especially_ from Raven.

 

‘ _Because,’_ Raven huffs with a roll of her eyes, ‘as stupid and cliché as it sounds, I _do_ actually care about you.’

 

He doesn’t quite appreciate her tone, particularly when there’s some jam stuck to the corner of her mouth, but he understands her sentiment even if it sounded a bit put-upon. Charles bites down a sigh and hopes to postpone the conversation until at least later in the afternoon but before he could voice out his thoughts Raven is speaking again.

 

 ‘Something’s wrong,’ she says with a worried expression, ‘and if there’s a way I can help then I want to.’

 

Guilt eats away his irritation and takes its place but the effect of her concern is semi-ruined by the spot of strawberry still on her face and he can’t help but point it out to her if they are to continue on this line of conversation. She wipes it off with the back of her hand as he resigns himself to her interrogation walking his way towards her with reluctance in his steps.

 

‘Three questions,’ she starts excitedly, as if she’s about to be privy to some hot gossip, ‘one, what did you and mum talk about last night. Two, what did you and Erik disagree about that got you all in a hissy fit—’

 

‘I am not in a hissy fit,’ he disagrees.

 

‘—and three, what’s going to happen in a few days?’

 

The reminder causes his back and shoulders to tense and his heart rate to increase rapidly. His stomach feels uncomfortably bloated despite that he’s not yet had any food in his belly since last night’s dinner as he can’t help but clench his fingers in a tight grip.

 

Her playful smile slowly fades upon noticing his white-knuckled fists. ‘Charles?’ Raven begins worriedly and drops her toast back onto the plate. ‘You’re scaring me.’

 

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologizes immediately and loosens the strain before his fingernails dig into his palms. ‘I’ve been having a rough week,’ he reasons but quickly corrects himself, ‘rough month, more like. Two, actually.’

 

‘What do you mean?’

 

He laughs out of turn and tells her, ‘I’ve been taking swimming lessons.’

 

She looks at him with a deadpan expression and shakes her head in a humorless way. ‘Be serious, Charles,’ she demands as she picks up her almost forgotten toast and takes a large bite of it.

 

He sighs and buries his head in his hands in hopes of softening the blow. ‘There’s a chance I’m going to fail my final year,’ he says quietly.

 

Raven spits out her half-masticated breakfast onto the table and screeches loud enough to frighten the birds from the nearby trees and deafen Charles’ hearing.

 

In hindsight, maybe he should’ve eased her into it.

 

\---

 

‘Start from the beginning; how the hell did this happen?’ Raven asks after she’s cleaned the table of her jam on toast.

 

‘Eight weeks ago, Mr. Shaw told me I was short eight credits for my graduation.’

 

‘What? That’s impossible!’

 

‘Eight _sports_ credits,’ he specifies and feels his heart skip and plummet at the same time as he relives the events of the last two months all over again.

 

‘I have never heard of this bullsh—’

 

‘Neither,’ he cuts her off before she goes on a spiel about it, ‘but it’s required.’ He can feel a headache coming along, thumping at the side of his skull in an ominous, slow beat.

 

‘Oh, my god,’ she pales in realization. ‘You dropped P.E to make room for your advanced sciences.’

 

‘In any normal given situation most students don’t have to worry about those eight credits.’

 

‘That’s because most students like P.E because it’s practically a free period. Is that why Erik’s been coming over? To help you get those credits?’

 

His jaw aches in shame at the mention of his name and he fights to loosen the tension. It takes him a while but he manages to ground out an affirmative to her question.

 

‘What did you guys fight about?’

 

‘Disagree on,’ he corrects.

 

‘Moving along,’ she says with a roll of her eyes.

 

‘There are set times we have to make to earn the credits,’ he begins to explain but can’t wipe out the image of the stopwatch with its reading of 39:42.08 from his head. Each extra second over the 35-minute time limit felt, _still feels_ , like an extra weight on his shoulders he can’t shrug off. He remembers how terribly his body was shaking. Not from the cold, but from the feeling of utter defeat.

 

He grits his teeth throughout his quick replay of events, renewing the ache in his jaw as he speaks. He’s still trying to convince himself that it’s not over; he still has a chance, but it feels so slim with the finish line so far away that he can’t help but feel a deep sense of loss.

 

After he’s given her a brief summary of the tasks he needs to complete for his eight credits Raven looks at him with wide eyes of shock. ‘Fifteen-hundred meters is the length of our pool times 60: that’s insane!’

 

‘I know,’ he tries not to groan out in dismay but the reality is crashing back down on him and he suddenly finds himself close to hyperventilating again. He stands and decides to go for another run to clear the things clattering in his head. ‘Can we talk about this later?’

 

She nods. ‘Sure. I mean, you actually kind of look like you’re on the verge of a catastrophic meltdown.’

 

‘Thank you for that,’ he smiles weakly as he sets a steady pace for himself for another long run around the house.

 

Raven is still on the patio the next time he passes it but she’s taken to continuing her breakfast with a cup of tea instead. After the third loop he gives in and joins her at the table for the second part of his interrogation, bribed into it with a cup of tea of his own.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember starting out this story with the intention of it being SHORT and just mindless fun. But then it escalated to something I can barely control and now I'm going 'how the hell did this happen?'. Oh well, c'est la vie.

 

\---

 

** Interlude **

 

\---

 

Raven is on a mission and her tool of the trade is her trusty cell phone. It is her greatest strength, her deepest secret and her only weakness. It lists the numbers of everybody she knows since the very moment she received her first phone with a figure which can reach well into the triple digits. It’s very rare she would use it for reasons that don’t include her somewhere in the equation but for her brother she’s willing to make an exception.

 

‘Angel, I need a favor,’ Raven says in lieu of greeting.

 

‘Girl, what are you getting yourself into this time?’ She laughs in reply.

 

‘Nothing big, I just need Erik Lehnsherr’s number,' she tells her, trying to be a nonchalant as possible.

 

‘Erik Lehnsherr?’ Angel repeats without a smile in her voice. ‘Captain of the swim team, Erik Lehnsherr? The guy who restored our school’s pride by bringing back the Regional Cup after five years, _that_ Erik Lehnsherr? Smokin’ hot body and badass reputation which earned him the moniker of Erik “ **The Shark** ” Lehnsherr?’

 

‘Yeah, him, that guy. Do you have his number or what?’

 

She scoffs. ‘I _wish_. I tried asking for his number once and he just gave me this look and walked away without telling me.’

 

Raven stifles back a laugh and she quickly moves on before her giggles get the better of her. ‘Well, do you _know_ anybody who might have his number?’

 

‘The guys on the swim team will be my best bet. I mean, I’d be surprised if they didn’t.’

 

‘Alright, thanks,’ she hangs up and immediately scrolls down her contacts until she comes across Bobby Drake, best swimmer for the individual medley races and whose immediate reply to her request for Erik’s phone number is to vehemently deny he has it.

 

‘What do you mean you don’t have it?’

 

Bobby hesitates briefly. ‘Uhh…I lost my phone the other day and I only just managed to get the number back so…’

 

She hums in an unconvinced manner as he continues to babble on reasons for why he doesn’t have Erik’s number until he eventually gives an excuse of needing to help his dad do the gardening before promptly hanging up.

 

Raven shrugs and decides maybe Carl Aalston, the next person down her list of people to call, will be more cooperative but as soon as she asks for Erik’s number he immediately hangs up without even giving an answer.

 

 _My god_ , she thinks in shock as she listens to the dead tone, _what the hell did Erik say to these guys to freak them out this much? It’s just a number._

 

Eventually, she gets an honest answer from Sammy Luc Paré even though it’s not at all what she’s after.

 

‘No way, man,’ he says, panicked. ‘I had to swear on my grandmother’s grave I would never tell anybody his number. You’re on your own.’

 

Raven lets out a frustrated yell at yet another hang-up as she stares at her phone with an angry scowl. _Fine_ , she thinks crossly as she resorts to doing it the old-fashioned way via phone book, _if I can’t speak to Erik directly then I’ll go for the next best thing._

 

It doesn’t take her long to find it – Lehnsherr is an uncommon last name also being the only listing in the book – and takes her even less time to input the number into her phone and let it ring. Three seconds later, a woman answers.

 

Raven smiles and puts on her sweetest voice. ‘Hello, Mrs. Lehnsherr? I’m a friend of Erik’s from school and I have a few essay questions to ask him. Is he available to speak with me? It won’t take more than a few minutes.’

 

‘Oh! Of course! Let me go get him.’

 

She gives herself a silent cry of victory and does a little dance on her bed as the woman on the other line begins to call out to Erik in a different language. The dialect isn’t something she recognizes but she’s not given enough time to figure it out before Erik finally picks up the call.

 

‘Who is this.’

 

 _Rude_ , she remarks at his unfriendly tone but brushes it off in favor of gaining some inside knowledge. ‘Hi, it’s Raven, I’m Charles’ sister.’

 

‘What do you want.’

 

She can’t stop her mouth from falling open at his complete lack of courtesy. She’s heard all the rumors about him being a total jerk but this is far beyond the scope of what she’s ever imagined him to be. Raven, there and then, decides to completely disregard her respect for him for helping Charles home the other day. However, she bites down her urge to screech into his ear as to not lose what could be her one and only chance at finding the information she needs from him. Raven takes in a deep breath and squashes her pride. ‘It’s about what happened between you and Charles yesterday.’

 

There’s the briefest of pauses before his rough voice returns even more bad-mannered than before. ‘It’s none of your business. _Goodbye_.’

 

‘He already told me!’ She yells into the phone in a panic before Erik can hang up on her. When she doesn’t immediately hear a dial tone she continues on, ‘he told me just this morning after his run.’ She doesn’t tell him that she had to half-pry it out of Charles, though.

 

There’s a long breath of silence on the other line and Raven has to look at the screen of her phone to make sure she hasn’t been cut off but no, they’re still on the line. She waits.

 

‘What do you know,’ he demands eventually.

 

‘Everything,’ she says in a rush and feels the smirk on the lips grow with every moment of hesitation from Erik. She holds her breath.

 

‘Then why are you still asking?’ He asks after a few moments, sounding irritated and the slightest bit harassed.

 

‘Because I want your side of the story.’

 

‘It’s still none of your business.’

 

She sighs and decides she obviously needs to appeal to his better nature or, at the very least, put him through a small guilt-trip for what he’s done. ‘Look, Charles is going through a really tough time and I can tell this falling out between the two of you is dealing a lot more damage to him than he’ll admit. He’s under a lot of stress no thanks to Mr. Shaw and, _obviously,_ you’re no help either.’

 

There’s another pause before he speaks again, softly. ‘I tried.’

 

‘Try harder. Charles is stubborn and it’ll take a ton of bricks before he’ll concede to moving or being persuaded into doing anything, alright?’ She hears him chuckle and the sound of it surprises the rage out of her.

 

‘I know.’

 

She grapples desperately for her rage and continues to hassle him. ‘Do you?’

 

‘I do.’

 

 _Damn_ , she thinks as she begrudgingly says bye-bye to her anger and irritation for Erik while her regard of him shifts towards a more positive light. ‘Okay, so? What’re you going to do about it?’

 

‘Nothing.’

 

There goes the positive light, out in a wink. ‘What do you mean “ _nothing_ ”?’ She balks.

 

‘Like you said, he’s stubborn. He needs to come to a conclusion on his own terms without interference from me _or_ you.’

 

She sniffs at his accusation but sighs knowing exactly what Erik means – Charles is her brother, after all. ‘You know, this could go two ways: either he’ll find a solution he can compromise with and come out on top or—’

 

‘He’ll go under.’

 

Raven worries her bottom lip between her teeth as Erik says the words she doesn’t ever want to associate with Charles. ‘Do me a favor—’

 

‘I don’t owe you anything.’

 

She plows on regardless. ‘Here’s Charles’ number. Go talk to him.’

 

Erik doesn’t say anything or even sound as if he’s grabbed a pen and paper to scribble down the digits but she knows he won’t dismiss it right away.  At least, she hopes he won’t.

 

‘Goodbye,’ he tells her after a few moments and leaves Raven listening to a dial tone.

 

\---

 

Erik stares at the recently saved entry on his phone and has it memorized within seconds. His thumb hovers over the green call button but he cancels at the last second before pocketing the cell phone and returning to help mama with some more house-cleaning.

 

‘She sounds like a very sweet girl,’ his mama says as soon as he returns into the kitchen to help with the stove. ‘Did you manage to help her with her question?’

 

‘I don’t know,’ he answers honestly as he picks up a dirty oil-stained cloth to wipe away the last few bits of grit on the stove top.

 

‘I’m sure you tried your best,’ she tells him in confidence.

 

Erik doesn’t feel as convinced.

 

\---

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I just thought I’d point out that none of the chapters have been beta’d by anyone. I’ve edited and taken out as many mistakes as I can but my eyes are stupid and sometimes I don’t manage to catch all of them despite my vigilance. Please let me know if you spot any and I’ll go around and correct it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm actually going to be away for the weekend (starting tonight or Friday depending on whether or not we want to be early or just on time) which means no internet. Not that I need the internet to write stories but yeah, I LIKE TO DISTRACT MYSELF WITH TUMBLR AND STUFF IN-BETWEEN WRITING...But hey! I'll be totally fine. TOTALLY FINE.

 

\---

 

_Every once in a while he indulges in a childish habit of soaking his feet in the water while he lies down with his back against the cold, wet and rough tiles. It’s an uncomfortable position to be in, especially after a while, but he enjoys the tranquility of it and the way the height of the ceiling seems so impossibly far away at this stance._

_He raises a hand to it, his fingers splayed, and for just a moment he can pretend it’s within his reach._

 

\---

  

Charles turns his head to the side in synchronization with his body movements and takes a quick breath of air before continuing his swim. He repeats the action every three strokes in the water and holds his breath for longer whenever he reaches the end of the lane to make a turnaround for another lap. He’s perfected the art of not clashing his fingers against the wall and using it for a kickoff into the next lap but it’s something that took days and days and weeks of practice to get the hang of. It’s not something anybody would think to celebrate but for Charles, considering that he’s never taken to swimming until just recently, it’s an achievement he intends to remember for life.

 

He stops at the end of his swim and looks towards the bleachers for Erik but he doesn’t, instead sees sunbathing chairs and Raven lying across one of them with her phone in her hand. He tries not to feel guilty, or even disappointed, but he fails on both counts.

 

‘What’s my time?’ He asks as he slips his goggles off to sit on his swimming cap.

 

‘Do you want the good news or the bad news first?’

 

He groans pitifully and drops his head to rest on the edge of the swimming pool. Raven takes this as her cue to speak.

 

‘Bad news is that you’re still over the 35-minute limit, but good news is that you’ve improved!!’ She starts clapping her hands in a circle as celebration. ‘You’re closer to your goal by a mere 73 seconds.’

 

’73 seconds,’ he says flatly before his voice begins to rise, ‘a minute and 13 seconds is still a lot, Raven! I’ve only got two days to go – what am I going to do?’ He groans in disgust at the reminder and wishes he doesn’t have to experience a mini heart-attack at each and every hour.

 

He wishes he can rewind back two months and start again with the intention of trying harder and doing better but he knows it’s pointless to think about it that way because, A: time-travelling is not yet achievable by any means available in their current century unless one is a Timelord (which, even then, is a bit of an impossibility), and B: he honestly doubts he could’ve done any better than he already has.

 

‘Hey, Mr. Grumpy Gills,’ Raven suddenly says with pouty lips and a twinkle in her eyes.

 

He looks at her in dismay as he ignores the uncomfortable sting in his eyes from the chlorinated water. ‘Raven, no.’

 

‘When life gets you down, you know what cha gotta do? Just keep swimming, just keep swimming—’

 

‘Raven, please!’ He tells her and attempts to block his ears.

 

‘—just keep swimming, _swimming_ , **swimming**. What do we do—’

 

‘I’m not listening to this!’ He shouts and proceeds to dunk his head underwater to drown out her singing. Unfortunately, he can only hold his breath for so long before he needs to resurface for more air. As soon as he does, she starts singing anew—belting it out, more like.

 

‘—we swim, _swim_ , **swim**! Ha-ha-ha- hoo-hoo-hoo!!’

 

‘ **Raven!!** ’

 

\---

 

‘Mother knows, by the way,’ he tells Raven with a slight pant in his breath as he sits down for a break before having another go at trying to beat his previous time.

 

‘About this? When? **How**? _Why_?!’

 

Charles winces and thinks that maybe he should’ve taken a seat further away from her before he started the conversation. ‘Mr. Shaw informed her of my “situation”,’ he quotes.

 

‘Tattle-tale,’ she scoffs as looks distinctly unimpressed by their principal. ‘What else did he “ _divulge”_ to mum, then?’

 

He shrugs as he wraps a towel around his shoulders and sits back on the chair in hopes of relaxing but with the way his body is shaking from exertion he knows it’ll take a while before he actually can. Charles takes in a deep breath and lets it out in a _whoosh_ , feeling his shoulders loosening up just a little bit. It’s not much but for now it’ll have to do.

 

‘I don’t know the actual details of the phone call but, ah…’ he trails off and finds his thoughts returning to the certificates splayed across his study desk and to mother’s voice saying to him: _your father and I would be very happy if you attended Oxford, but only if Oxford is where you actually want to go._

 

‘Bad news, I take it?’ Raven says with a wince of sympathy.

 

‘Or a blessing in disguise?’ He finishes with another shrug as he looks away from the pool down to his hands where he notices the dry, flaking skin on his knuckles. ‘Mother and I had a long talk about…a lot of things last night.’ He remembers the way she kept touching the pearl necklace as she spoke: _I know you miss him, Charles_ , as though she was trying to draw strength from it. He knows the pearls had been the last gift she’d ever received from father before he passed away, one she has hardly taken off since the moment he helped her put it on.

 

 _Erik was right_ , he exhales noisily in remembrance to his lessons and feels guilty once again for dismissing Erik the way he did, for choosing his pride and ego over the things that were more important.

 

‘Stop stalling,’ she berates him with a light smack across his shoulder. ‘What did mum say? Was it about Oxford?’

 

‘She asked me if I only wanted to go to Oxford because of father,’

 

‘Isn’t that the case, though?’

 

He grinds out a harsh “ _yes_ ” and wonders if he’s always been that painfully transparent with his life-goals. Every excuse he comes up with is easily rebuffed: he chose Oxford not for its coursework and not even for its prestigious status, but for a reason that had nothing to do with himself and everything to do with his father.

 

It’s the truth and he’s never felt so hurt by it.

 

‘You were a lot closer to dad than I was,’ Raven murmurs softly as she plays with the curls of her hair. ‘I remember--well, not much about him and I guess that’s a small blessing but…I know you took it a lot harder than I did when he died.’

 

He’s been gone for 10 years, _10 years_ , and in those 10 years Charles has done nothing but strive towards a spot of attendance in Oxford with the belief that it will shape his future like it did for his father. It’s not the case and he’s never felt so foolish for ever believing it would. He replays last night’s conversation in his mind, of his mother telling him: _if you’re only choosing to go to Oxford because of your father then I wonder if it’s the best choice for you_. It helps serve as a reminder of the right decisions he’s made for all the wrong reasons and wonders how he became so utterly lost. Oxford had never been about him, and he can’t believe it took him this long to realize it.

 

‘What are you going to do?’

 

He shakes his head. ‘If I have to then I’ll stay for an extra school term.’ This way he’ll have more time to earn those credits and have less stress to worry about.

 

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before asking, ‘Do you think Oxford will hold your position until the next starting semester?’

 

‘Highly unlikely, but…’ he pauses and is surprised when his heart doesn’t immediately go into a fit at the thought of losing his place. ‘It’s OK, I don’t mind.’

 

Raven stares at him wide-eyed. ‘But Charles—’

 

‘Columbia’s not that bad either, actually,’ he finds himself smiling as he thinks about the multitude of certificates strewn across his study table where, out of the seven, only two were issued from Oxford, three came from Columbia, one from NYU and the other from the State University. He has plenty of choices, not just the one, and it’s only now he realizes how silly he’d been to limit himself to just Oxford.

 

Charles stands, feeling more confident than he has in months and lighter than he has in years. A self-imposed weight falls away from his heart and even though he feels it’s a shame to miss out on Oxford he knows he’s doing the right thing for himself.

 

‘Let’s try again,’ he tells Raven as he leaves his towel on the chair and readies himself for another long swim, _one lap at a time._

 

\---

 

He’s not sure what to expect upon stepping through the double doors leading into the pool area and for a moment it almost seems like any other day except it’s the morning of the first part of his physical assessment and he feels completely awash with nerves. Mr. Howlett hasn’t yet arrived and he doesn’t think Erik will make an appearance especially with the way he behaved the last time they spoke.

 

Charles shakes away the guilt as he hurries towards the changing rooms with the hope of getting in a few leisurely laps as warm-ups before the beginning of his assessment. It’s simple enough; just the four-hundred freestyle and individual medley to go through. _No problem_ , he thinks encouragingly as he runs his goggles under the sink before pulling it over his swimming cap with a snap.

 

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and freezes. The boy looking back at him is still the same Charles, still pale and freckly as ever but he can see a difference in the way he stands and the way he holds himself that hadn’t been there 6 or even 7 weeks ago. There’s some definition in his arms, stomach and legs and a small laugh bubbles its’ way out of his throat as he looks at himself in the mirror and sees a person who finally looks comfortable in his own skin. It’s a revelation and suddenly he feels not invincible but at the very least no longer as breakable.

 

He calms: _don’t jump the gun_ , and takes slow, deep breaths as he neatly folds his things back into his bag and tries to mentally prepare himself for the four credits he needs to earn today. He knows he’ll have no problems with it but he begins to question his readiness the minute he hears the double doors swing open and feels his heart make a drop for it. He braces himself to meet with Mr. Howlett but finds his breath staggering at seeing Erik instead.

 

It’s been four days and Charles is surprised Erik would even make the effort to find him after everything he’s said. His guilt returns two-fold at the look on Erik’s face, not sour or angry but anxious.

 

‘I’m sorry,’ Charles tells him as soon as he’s capable of speaking again. ‘Yes, I was obsessed, yes, I was desperate and no, it wasn’t fair of me to vent out my frustrations on you.’

 

Erik looks taken aback by the apology, as though he’d been preparing for something else that didn’t include it. His expression twists to shame as he clears his throat and shifts his weight from foot to foot as he says, ‘I’m sorry, too, for implying things I shouldn’t have, especially about your father.’

 

He feels the inexplicable urge to laugh out of turn again and he wonders why it is but manages to force it down with a firm hand.

 

‘You were right,’ he says brokenly and tries to fight against the constricting feeling surrounding his heart. ‘I didn’t know what I want, or more specifically, I didn’t know why I was doing it and it certainly wasn’t for my own benefit.’ It feels different to admit it out loud, a different sort of vulnerability compared to coming to a conclusion in the privacy of his own mind. ‘Maybe at the beginning I knew why but I suppose I lost sight of it somewhere along the way.’

 

’10 years is a long time to shift a person’s perspective.’

 

Once again, Charles is struck by how long he’d been working towards Oxford for. It’s not a waste, definitely not and if anything, it feels more like he’s gained something rather than lost. Yes, it’s a pity he can’t attend Oxford _now_ but it’s not as if that option is forever closed to him if he were to decline the invitation.

 

‘I suppose this means my outlook has changed,’ he finishes with a smile.

 

‘For the better.’

 

A disgruntled noise catches their attention and Charles almost jumps out of his skin without permission as he looks towards the side door leading into the gym teachers’ offices and finds Mr. Howlett with a red pen in his fingers and a clipboard folder tucked under his arm. ‘Lehnsherr,’ Mr. Howlett gestures for him with a finger before he flips open the clipboard folder and turns two pages in.

 

Charles watches him go with a quiet choke as he turns to look at the large analog clock hanging above the side door behind his assessor with a display time of 8:24am. Mr. Howlett is over half an hour earlier than he should be and Charles sincerely hopes they’re not going to start right away because: _I am so not ready, yet._

 

They speak quietly and occasionally Charles can catch a snippet of a word here and there coming from Mr. Howlett whose voice carries on a lot more noticeably in this area with its high ceilings and general emptiness. He leaves his things in a neat pile along the bleachers and tries to calm his nerves.

 

The click of a pen draws his thoughts away and he notices that Erik’s now the one holding onto the clipboard while Mr. Howlett keeps his arms crossed and his attention focused on the brunet. Charles suddenly feels intimidated by their formidable tag team and wishes he wasn’t the only person doing this assessment.

 

‘Do your warm-ups,’ Mr. Howlett tells him with a gruff voice. ‘I want to see how well your basics are – butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke and freestyle.’

 

‘Yes, sir,’ he says and immediately wants to do the opposite and run the hell away but at the same time can’t help the eager anticipation fluttering in his tummy as he steps closer to the starting block. Charles erases as much of his anxieties away as he can and tries to treat this as any other normal training session. He shifts his goggles from swimming cap to his eyes and plants his feet firmly on the starting block. _I can do this_ , he repeats the mantra in his head as he crouches down and rests his fingers close to the edge.

 

He counts off in his head – _three, two, one_ – and dives.

 

\---

 

‘He’s got good form.’

 

Erik nods in agreement as he watches Charles swim from one end of the pool to another. His execution of style is close to perfection and he can’t help the smirk on his face at the thought that just two months ago the brunet had barely been able to swim five laps, not to mention keep to a straight line.

 

‘Wipe that smirk off your face, Lehnsherr.’

 

His smirk grows wide enough to show all his teeth instead.

 

\---

 

‘Alright, Chuck, you know the drill: you’ve got 5 minutes and 30 seconds to beat. First up is the 400-meter individual medley.’ Mr. Howlett tells him as he holds onto a standard stopwatch with his thumb poised over the start button.

 

Charles shifts his attention to the left and catches Erik’s eyes.

 

‘Ready, steady—’

 

He nods.

 

The whistle blows and he’s off. The countdown has begun.

 

\---

 


	9. Chapter 9

  
\---

_He’s lost track of the amount of times he’s stood on the starting block but each count consistently fills him with a sense of purpose layered with fear that almost consumes him and adrenaline that powers through him. He focuses on the latter, focuses on his breaths, focuses on his body and focuses on the lessons he’s learned over the weeks._

_The whistle blows. He dives._

 

\---

 

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon but Charles is already awake and getting ready to meet Erik at the school field for their obligatory morning run. He eats a quick and simple breakfast of two lightly buttered toasts with a hot cup of tea and heads out the door before anybody else in his family is up from bed.

 

For the past month and a half he’s taken to walking the half an hour it takes to get from his house to the school. It’d been tiresome at first but he’s found that it’s done wonders to his endurance, not to mention decrease the time it used to take him to walk the distance from three-quarters of an hour down to an average of 30 minutes.

 

It’s peaceful at this time of day. There’s little to no traffic, all the streetlights are still on until they blink off one by one as the sun rises, and the only other people awake at this point in the day are the bakers and dairy owners already making a head start into their business hours. There’s also a diner at the corner that opens 24/7 but there’s only one person sitting at the booth and—

 

He stops abruptly, mouth slightly open at the sight of Erik eating a healthy pile of pancakes. It takes him a few moments to remember that he’s midstride in the middle of a sidewalk before he regains his composure and heads inside.

 

‘What are you doing?’

 

Erik stares at him with a raised eyebrow as he chews his food. ‘Eating breakfast,’ he says around a mouthful before he gestures to the brunet with a fork. ‘What are _you_ doing?’

 

‘I’m on my way to school to meet you,’ he tells him as he sits opposite Erik and finally notices that he’s wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, a red t-shirt and a black jacket zipped up halfway. ‘We _are_ meeting today, aren’t we?’ He asks, feeling confused at the attire and left to wonder if Erik had planned something else for the morning and he’d completely missed hearing about it yesterday.

 

‘You’re early,’ Erik comments as he takes another bite of his pancakes, looking vaguely amused by the brunet’s bewildered expression. ‘I planned on going over to your house after I finish eating.’

 

‘What for?’

 

‘Because I wanted to tell you to take a day off,’ he says as he mops up whatever droplets of maple syrup he has left on his plate with the last bite of pancakes before finishing it off.

 

‘A day off? Are you serious?’

 

‘Your body needs to recuperate for tomorrow,’ he tells him as he pushes his empty plate aside, wipes the corner of his mouth clean with his thumb and licks it clean before focusing his attention on the brunet instead. ‘You’ve been pushing yourself a lot these past couple of months, practically training nonstop day-in and day-out – you need a break. I’m serious.’

 

‘I can take a break after the assessment,’ he tries to protest but it comes out weakly. Every second of every minute in every hour for the past two months had been dedicated to nothing but studying and training and more studying with more training shoved into the schedule. He can’t remember the last time he had any spare time to himself and the very thought of freedom, _an actual day off,_ sends shivers of longing running up and down his spine.

 

‘Go home and relax,’ Erik says encouragingly but in a tone that brooks no argument. ‘You’re not going to drastically worsen your fitness level by relaxing the day before your big swim. If you feel the need to exercise then go for it but shorten it down to a leisurely 10 to 15-minute workout. Stay positive and stay focused, alright?’

 

He nods then smoothly starts shaking his head instead. ‘I’m going to drive myself up the wall if I have nothing to do. I’m going to be distracted the entire day, completely neurotic and—’ he stops himself just as a middle-aged waitress came by to pick up the used plate and cutleries. She gives the both of them a sweet smile, which Charles barely manages to return, before she disappears back into the kitchen area.

 

‘You were fine yesterday.’ Erik points out in reminder as he plucks out a serviette from the dispenser and cleans his side of the table with it even though it’s practically spotless.

 

‘You and I both know that yesterday was easy compared to what’s going to happen tomorrow,’ he hisses and tries to loosen up the tension he suddenly feels in his shoulders with a deep breath but fails.

 

Erik sighs and pulls out a new serviette, borrows a pen that’s provided with the feedback cards and starts writing. ‘This is what I do before a big race,’ he tells him as he continues to scribble down point after point. ‘1: stick to your regular diet. Don’t try anything new or unusual because you never know how your body will react.’

 

Charles makes a face but leans closer to read the other steps.

 

‘2: prepare yourself by preparing your gear. Make sure you’ve got everything ready so you don’t have to worry about it last minute.’

 

He nods; he’s already got his sports bag next to him which he doubts he’ll be using today but he figures he’ll do another check later on to make sure he didn’t forget anything vital.

 

‘3, and this one’s important: R-E-L-A-X, _relax_.’ Erik underlines the word two times to make an emphasis on it and gives him a pointed look before moving on with the fourth, ‘find some inspiration to get yourself motivated and in a positive mood.’

 

He comes up with a blank. ‘What do you usually do?’

 

‘I have a Star Wars marathon,’ he says with a small grin as he writes down the benefits of waking up early for his fifth point.

 

‘What a shame.’

 

Erik pauses in his writing and looks at the brunet with a raised eyebrow. ‘Why is that?’

 

‘I’m more of a Trekkie.’

 

A short bark of laughter escapes him as he turns his attention back to the serviette. ‘Definitely a shame,’ he smirks as he continues writing the list out to Charles, finishing at the sixth and final number point. ‘Don’t stress out if you can’t sleep tonight. Just like how doing nothing today isn’t going to hurt your fitness level, not being able to sleep tonight isn’t going to hurt either.’

 

‘You’re sure about that?’ He can’t help but sound skeptical.

 

‘Positive,’ he tells him as he hands the serviette over to the brunet and puts the pen back where he found it. ‘As long as you had good quality sleep last night then you’ve nothing to worry about. Take a short nap if you want to but no more than half an hour.’

 

Charles can hardly take his eyes away from the serviette as he tries to engrave each point into his mind but then he notices a string of numbers at the very bottom and can't help but raise an eyebrow at them. ‘Your number?’

 

Erik stares at him for a moment. ‘In case you want to talk.’

 

He nods again and keys the number into his phone as they leave the diner, walking together until they reach the third intersection before heading off in different directions.

 

Charles doesn’t call Erik but he does keep the serviette close with him throughout the whole day.

 

\---

 

Five minutes prior to Hank’s arrival, Raven is already sitting by the stairs in the main foyer eagerly waiting for him. There’s muffled conversation happening in the direction of the study but she assumes it to be her mother speaking on the phone and pays it no more attention than strictly necessary. A few minutes pass and she begins to hear the gravel crunching underfoot, shortly followed by shuffles up the stone steps and a ring of the doorbell. She bites her lip to hold back her grin as she jumps off her seat and counts down four seconds before opening the door.

 

‘Hi,’ Hank says with a shy smile and a small wave.

 

She kisses him on the cheek in greeting and pulls him into the house by the sleeve of his shirt. ‘You didn’t have to come straight after your last exam,’ she tells him but can’t help her bubbly mood as she leads him towards the living room hand in hand.

 

‘Your house is closer; logistically speaking it would’ve been more convenient to visit you first before going home rather than the other way around.

 

‘Oh, so I’m convenient?’ She asks with a raised eyebrow and an incredulous expression.

 

‘Well, yes,’ he answers in a no-nonsense tone, sending Raven into a small laughing fit about his complete honesty.

 

‘Only you, Hank, only you,’ she smiles fondly as they near the living room only to jump when a high-pitched squeak catches their attention. Raven spots the TV first then her brother sitting in front of the couch with an empty bowl in his lap. ‘Charles!! What are you doing here??’ He was _supposed_ to be at school.

 

‘Erik told me to relax, so I’m relaxing,’ he says without looking away from the TV.

 

Hank readjusts his glasses and squints at the screen before asking, ‘Which episode are you up to?’

 

‘Oh, dear god,’ she mutters quietly under her breath.

 

Charles holds up a DVD case for the second season of the Star Trek series. ‘Fifteenth episode.’

 

‘Ah!’ Hank’s eyes brighten as he snaps his fingers together in understanding, ‘Trouble with Tribbles.’

 

‘Care to join me? I’d offer you some popcorn but I’ve just finished it,’ Charles says sheepishly and with an apologetic expression.

 

‘Sure! That’ll be—uh…’ he hesitates and quickly changes his mind, ‘actually, maybe next time.’

 

Raven rolls her eyes at the both of them and suppresses a long-suffering sigh before she asks Hank, ‘Do you want to stay and watch Star Trek?’

 

He looks at her with a hopeful expression. ‘Yes, please.’

 

‘I’ll get us some more popcorn then,’ she drawls fondly as she takes the empty bowl away from Charles and leaves towards the kitchen to put another bag into the microwave.

 

\---

 

He doesn’t quite know what to feel at the sight of Erik conversing and actually getting along with Mr. Howlett. The fact that their sports teacher looks amused as opposed to his default look of “grumpy” should be kind of worrying for Charles and he sincerely hopes Erik isn’t telling his assessor about the story of when he accidentally swam in a crooked line from the first lane down to the third lane.

 

A quiet noise of embarrassment escapes him but he forces himself to stop imagining the worse and tries to dedicate all of his attention on the lessons he’s learned so far instead.

 

 _Lesson 1: punctuality._ The fact that neither Erik and/or Mr. Howlett have shoved him into the pool for tardiness is already a good sign. The fact that he’s not even _late_ is something Charles isn’t sure if they’ll take into account at all. Whether or not they’ll do it later on when he’s not looking is entirely up for questioning.

 

He stands once he notices that it’s ten minutes to the hour and heads towards the starting block with slow, measured breaths. He can feel his heart beating a fast, excited pace in his chest and he can tell the moisture on his palm isn’t entirely from his earlier dip in the swimming pool. As he dunks his goggles into the water and pulls it over his head he spots Erik walking towards him from the corner of his eyes but he doesn’t turn to look, focuses instead on readjusting the goggles until they sit snugly around his eyes.

 

 _This is it_ , he thinks as he tries to mentally prepare himself for a long swim.

 

‘Eager, aren’t we,’ Erik smirks while he roots around his backpack until he finds what he’s looking for.

 

He ignores the comment. ‘What’s that?’ He asks instead as Erik pulls out two pieces of laminated paper and a roll of duct tape from his bag.

 

‘A little motivation,’ he grins as he shows Charles what’s printed on the other side of both papers. It says OXFORD, completed with the university’s insignia in the background and it startles a laugh out of the brunet. ‘Remember everything that I’ve told you and you’ll be just fine.’ Erik tells him as he begins to tear a long strip of duct tape to stick the message onto this side of the pool just under the water where Charles can see.

 

He’s aware he’s smiling like a loon but he’s too happy to care, after all he can’t look any sillier than he already does. ‘Thank you for helping me through this.’

 

‘Don’t thank me yet,’ he warns light-heartedly as he starts heading towards the other end.

 

‘Erik,’ Charles reaches for him and tugs onto his jacket before he gets too far. ‘I mean it, thank you,’ he tells him firmly and hopes Erik can hear the gratitude in his voice of how much these two months have changed him, and all for the better. Charles doesn’t know how much of what he feels is conveyed through his tone, his words and his expressions but he hopes it’s enough to be understood.

 

The smirk fades as he turns to face him with a clear look of seriousness in his eyes and gives a curt nod. ‘Good luck.’

 

There’s five minutes to go but he doesn’t think he’ll be any more mentally or physically prepared than he already is so he stands on the starting block and tells Mr. Howlett he’s ready to get started. Erik is on the other side of the pool, roll of duct tape in hand with the second laminated sheet stuck at the end of his lane. Charles smiles at the gesture as he listens to the countdown.

 

The whistle is his signal and he dives with his arms outstretched and a deep breath of air in his lungs. The water parts for him and he kicks his feet as he swims, uses his arms to propel his body forward, turning his head every three strokes for another breath. He counts off in his mind: _one, two, three, breathe. One, two, three, breathe_. At the end of the first lap, he gives himself a silent cheer of congratulation.

 

 _Lesson 2_ , he thinks instinctively, _one lap at a time._

 

He finishes one lap after another with his concentration solely on his body and nothing else. He doesn’t think about his time, he doesn’t distract himself with Oxford, he doesn’t focus on what his father would think of him and whether or not he’ll be disappointed if he fails. He knows—he’s absolutely _certain—_ that if his father would ever become disappointed in him it wouldn’t be because he failed but because he failed to keep trying.

 

Charles puts his fears aside, all his anxieties and thoughts of humiliation and shame out of his mind as he twists his body and pushes his feet off the wall for his eighth lap.

 

_Lesson 3: don’t compare yourself with others._

 

Life is full of trial and error. If nothing else it’s _all_ about trial and error. It’s all about making mistakes, learning mistakes, correcting mistakes and teaching others not to do the same thing. Charles knows this, which is why he’s not as forceful with his right hand; the only reason how he could skip two and a half lanes just to swim one lap, or why he doesn’t put all of his strength into his kicks so he can last longer without running out of energy sooner.

 

His toes brush against the letters as he executes a rotation and kicks off again. It’s the thirteenth lap and he’s almost halfway there. He counts off in his mind: _one, two, three, breathe. One, two, three, breathe_ and thinks on his fourth lesson: _speed, not haste_.

 

Charles takes controlled breaths as he continues to keep track of his position in the pool. He’s beginning to feel the strain in every twist and turn of his body, in every push and pull of his muscles working in time with him but it’s a minor nuisance, one he doesn’t pay too close attention to, though it’s still there at the back of his mind.

 

He misjudges the distance between the wall and himself and accidentally collides his fingers onto the tiles. Pain shoots up his arm but he forces himself to complete the turn and keep going. He spits out the water that managed to slip into his mouth previously and tries to remember where he’s up to but he’s lost count of the laps – was it the eighteenth or the nineteenth? He pushes on regardless; he’s more than certain he’ll hear a whistle at the end of it, or Erik calling his name telling him it’s over: pass or not.

 

The laminated sheet of paper beckons for him from the end of the pool, the printed letters spelling out OXFORD getting progressively closer and closer until the moment he has to turn around to continue his swim. Each lap feels like a step, a struggle, a goal to be achieved. Every breath, every stroke, every turn is a direct result of daily training, of hard word, of good intentions and even of desperation. He remembers starting out with the thought that he had everything to lose but it’s not true.

 

_Lesson 5: the strength of your ability is measured by the strength of your belief._

 

He has everything to gain.

 

The blow of a whistle stops him a third of the way down the lane. It’s sooner than he expects and he feels dread at the thought that he’s failed but Erik’s smiling, jogging to meet him where he is, and Charles feels the heavy weight in his stomach lift and disappear.

 

‘You did it!’ Erik tells him in congratulations as he shows the brunet the stopwatch.

 

‘I did it,’ he repeats in disbelief as he takes in the 6 digits of his time and pulls off his goggles to make sure he’s not seeing a mirage. He’s completely awestruck by the number and he feels something growing in his chest, spreading from the base of his spine and tingling in his belly. Charles repeats the three words over and over again and finally lets it all out in a resounding “ _yes_!”

 

‘33:49.68, Chuck, good job,’ Mr. Howlett tells him as he continues to scribble down notes onto his clipboard. ‘Congratulations on passing but from what I’ve seen and what Erik’s told me you’ve earned it.’

 

Charles’ cheeks grow warmer and he can’t help but feel humbled by the compliment. He quickly pulls himself out of the pool and extends a hand to the older man. ‘Thank you, Mr. Howlett, for taking the time out of your busy schedule to see to my assessments.’

 

‘No need, bub,’ he says but gives the brunet a rigorous handshake anyway. ‘By the end of today you’ll be a free man, relatively speaking,’ he shrugs as he starts heading towards the office. ‘Now go get cleaned up. After I’m done updating your records this place will be on lockdown. I don’t give a damn if either of you are still inside.’

 

Charles finishes changing in four minutes and they’re out in less than five because they know Mr. Howlett is definitely a man of his word.

 

\---

 

‘When you kept going even after your 30 laps were up I wasn’t sure if you were trying to go for extra credits or if you’d lost count.’ Erik grins as he fiddles with the straw of his milkshake trying to mix what’s left of the froth with the last few sips of ice cream and milk.

 

‘I lost count,’ Charles admits with a sheepish grin.

 

They’re at the diner sitting at the exact same booth as the one they’d occupied just yesterday morning. He’s eating waffles slathered with a generous serving of chocolate syrup and a good helping of whipped cream for the first time in what feels like years. Every bite feels like victory. ‘I couldn’t have possibly done it without your help,’ Charles says in a clichéd manner but hopes his tone and mannerism is enough to show how genuine his statement is.

 

‘I’d say 30% came from my coaching but the rest was entirely you.’

 

‘I’d say 30% is a bit generous of you,’ he quips and it’s enough to make the both of them laugh themselves silly. It’s not until a waitress passes them by with a gentle “ _shh_ ” and a wink that they settle down to a quiet snicker.

 

‘Congratulations,’ Erik says after he calms. ‘I suppose you’ll be packing and heading off soon?’

 

‘Yes,’ he sobers immediately, feeling his smile sit awkwardly on his face. The flutter he’d felt in his chest for most of the morning is gone as he tells Erik about his plans, about how he’ll probably fly off after the graduation ceremony is over, about how he’s chosen to stay at a dorm rather than renting an apartment to share and about how scared and excited he feels at the prospect of travelling overseas by himself. Mostly he’s terrified of being alone, but he doesn’t tell Erik that.

 

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Erik tells him in response to travelling without a companion, ‘especially if you plan on making trips back and forth for the holidays.’

 

‘That’s true,’ he says quietly as he pushes the last few pieces of his waffles around his plate, smearing the entire thing with swirls of chocolate and whipped cream. He feels a little sick but attributes it to having too much sugar in one sitting and blames the too-generous chocolate syrup as the main culprit. He’s aware he’s making a mess for the dishwasher out in the back and can only hope they’ve got a heavy-duty scrubber to help them wash it off.

 

They leave the diner shortly after and walk together until they reach the third intersection. Charles knows he probably won’t see Erik again after this. Erik’s got one more year of high school to go and won’t have any possible reason of attending the graduation ceremony. Unless something else comes up and, God forbid, it turns out that Charles needs to earn _more_ sports credits then this is it; no more morning runs, no more meet-ups in the gym, and no more swim sessions at the pool.

 

‘Erik,’ he starts to say before he loses his nerves, ‘I know I haven’t been the best of trainees, nor the easiest to deal with, nor the most talented when it comes to sports but I—it’s…’ he worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he struggles to find the right words to string together but fails to.

 

Erik lays a hand on his shoulder, looks at him— _looks_ at him—as he tells him, ‘there’s a lot more to you than you give yourself credit for. Everything we went through these past two months doesn’t just apply to sports or swimming, remember that, okay?’

 

Charles nods and wishes he can say more than just a simple “thank you”. He wants to tell Erik that these past two months have helped him discover more about himself than he has on his own for the past 16 years. He wants to tell Erik that everything he is now is because of him. He wants to tell Erik that for the first time since his father’s death he’s finally at peace with himself. But he doesn’t, not a single word.

 

‘Good luck with Oxford, Charles.’

 

It feels like a hollow victory.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE, PROMISE, PROMISE TO STOP MESSING WITH THE CHAPTER NUMBERS! I'M SO SORRY!! DID I MENTION THAT I'M TERRIBLE AT THIS?! I'M SOOOOOORRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY!!


	10. Chapter 10

 

\---

 

** Interlude **

 

\---

 

Erik wakes just before the crack of dawn and checks his phone more out of habit than any actual need. He’s not surprised when there’re no messages waiting for him and sets it down back on his bedside table. He looks around his room, the colors surrounding him a faded dark blue to match the lightening of the sky, and wonders if his mama came in while he was sleeping; something feels different even though everything looks the same, nothing’s been moved or touched but he brushes it off as inconsequential as he gets up and goes through his morning routines.

 

He’s halfway through breakfast and gives his phone another cursory glance even though there’s been no alert or notification telling him anything’s changed since the last time he checked it less than 15 minutes ago. He scrolls through his contacts until he hits the first name starting with “C” before he exits and locks the phone. The toast he’s eating is dry against his tongue but the sweetness of mama’s homemade marmalade more than makes up for it as he finishes it off. Erik does his dishes, leaves them to dry on the rack and wipes his hands clean. He pats his pockets down and freezes when he doesn’t feel a familiar lump in any of them. He turns and visibly relaxes when he relocates his phone that he left on the dining table.

 

He’s almost out the door but he checks to make sure his keys, wallet and phone are with him before he leaves quietly so he doesn’t wake his papa. As soon as the door is closed behind him and his house keys are tucked into his pocket he checks the phone again but there’s nothing new there. He stares at it as he walks down the street but backtracks after a block to make sure he’s actually locked the door, which he didn’t, before he heads off again feeling a little sheepish for almost forgetting.

 

The walk towards the local diner isn’t too far from the house; less than 10 minutes drive and no more than half an hour to walk the distance. If Erik wanted to then he could run it and make it there in a quarter of an hour but he keeps his pace to a light jog instead. During the run he’s pulled out his phone from his pocket two more times but puts it away again when he nears the intersection next to the diner and sees his mama cleaning one of the tables. He enters the restaurant to greet her properly, to say good morning before telling her that he needs to go and saying he’ll see her again at home.

 

‘You’re still meeting with Charles?’

 

‘Yes, Mama, I--’ he begins to tell her but suddenly stops – he completely forgot; he doesn’t need to do this every day anymore. In fact, he doesn’t need to do it at all.

 

Erik catches her looking at him with a soft expression on her face as she kisses his forehead and tells him to go with a firm push. ‘Enjoy your run.’

 

He nods curtly as he turns to leave but not before saying he’ll come back before her shift finishes so they can have breakfast together and he can walk her home – his attempt at saving whatever dignity he has for forgetting that he’s no longer required to meet with Charles every morning now. He knows his mama won’t judge but he still feels the need to save face as he exits the diner and starts walking towards the school.

 

The field is empty of people but he doesn’t mind this as he starts jogging around the track. Every once in a while he pulls his phone out to check for messages but there’s nothing new and he doesn’t know why he keeps bothering with this or why he’s even bothered by it at all. The entire morning has thrown him off-kilter with the realization that his routine for the past 2 months is done; finished and he doesn’t know what’s worse: forgetting that his obligations towards Charles and his sport credits are already fulfilled or that he can’t stop himself from looking at his phone every quarter-hour like one of his peers that can’t live without it.

 

In the middle of his eighth lap he stops, breathes deeply, and starts walking towards the diner despite that it hasn’t been more than 15 minutes. Erik resolutely refuses to look at his phone although he catches himself in the middle of reaching for it twice during his leisurely stroll. He curbs the urge to look, to make sure, but it’s become an unconscious maneuver and he hates that he’s become so dependent on it.

 

His mama is waiting for him in their usual booth with her work clothes hidden away by a beige coat and two plates of pancakes on the table.

 

‘How was work?’ He asks her as he slides into the seat opposite her and drinks half the glass of water she got for him.

 

‘Oh, never mind that,’ his mama smiles as she slides the bottle of maple syrup towards him after she’s had her fill of it. ‘You came back earlier than I thought you might. Is something wrong?’

 

He ignores her question as he helps himself to the maple syrup and drizzles it in a circular pattern outside going in. ‘Just as well otherwise my pancakes will be cold.’

 

They laugh quietly and she eventually confiscates the bottle before he completely empties it onto his plate. There’s too much, more than his usual amount, but he decides the resulting tummy-ache might be worth it if it means he can avoid thinking about certain things.

 

Erik’s two-thirds of the way through his second breakfast when his mama speaks up again, ‘Did you see Charles today?’

 

His teeth start to hurt, _too much sugar_ , and he gulps the rest of his water to wash the sweetness away before he answers her. ‘No, I didn’t.’ The field was empty when he arrived and it was empty still when he left it.

 

Erik told her about Charles’ results yesterday, about how he passed with flying colors and how all their training finally paid off. Charles has his 8 sports credits just in time for his graduation and soon he’ll be off.

_‘You don’t look happy, schatz.’_

_‘I’m happy for Charles.’_

_‘Oh, Erik,’ she says as she kisses his hair and lets it go to continue on with making dinner._

 

The laminated sheets that spelled OXFORD are still on his desk in his room. He thought about throwing them away: there’s no need for it anymore, but he doesn’t want to so it’s just there, collecting dust.

 

‘Are you going to see Charles today?’

 

He makes a face at her as he says vehemently, ‘no, Mama; he’s preparing for graduation,’ he finishes and doesn’t exactly know what prompted him to say exactly what he said. He notices she’s already finished her pancakes though, so he uses it as an excuse to make a retreat and takes their dirty plates, cutlery and glasses to the back to be put to wash. Erik tries to linger as long as he can but he knows he can’t push past anymore than a measly 5 minutes, even after a quick chat with the kitchen boy and head-chef. When he gets out his mama is already waiting by the door for him.

 

‘Let’s go home,’ he says as he holds the door open for her and waits for his mama to clear the door before following after her.

 

His phone alerts him to a new message and he jumps at the noise. Not much but enough to be noticed.

 

‘Are you going to check it?’

 

Erik resolutely curls his fingers into fists as he tells her calmly, ‘no, Mama, it can wait.’

 

He catches her looking at him with another soft expression but he refuses to look at his phone and refuses to acknowledge it even though it feels as if it’s burning a hole in his pocket. He wants to throw it away so he won’t feel so burdened by it but he knows he’ll dig around for it and slip it back into his pocket like nothing’s changed.

 

As soon as they get in through the door papa is already up and waiting for the kettle to boil so he can make his mandatory cup of coffee. When mama leaves his side to greet papa Erik can’t stop his fingers from reaching into his pocket to check the new message.

 

It’s from a number he doesn't recognize: _Charles is leaving soon._ But he can't easily guess who the sender might be.

 

He ignores the text.

 

‘Is that from Charles?’ His mama asks as she takes off her coat and hangs it on the stand next to the door.

 

‘No, Mama,’ he holds back a huff as he takes off his shoes and puts it in the shelves properly before drinking another glass of water and going up to his room. He can hear his mama and papa talking quietly in the kitchen but he doesn’t pay attention to it as he closes his door behind him and reads the message again.

 

_Charles is leaving soon. Day after graduation. 9am flight._

 

He doesn’t know what Raven's aiming for, why she’s choosing to do this or how she thinks it’s even any of her business. He closes the text message and leaves the phone on his bedside table.

 

Or he does his damndest to leave the phone alone but ultimately fails because he reads it twice an hour every hour throughout the day and a few more times while he readies for bed and a total of 6 more before he falls asleep.

 

\---

 

He wakes up in the middle of the night realizing that he never gave Raven his number. He thinks she must’ve pilfered it from Charles, either by searching through his phone or from the serviette he left him. There’s no other explanation.

 

\---

 

On the day of Charles’ graduation Erik receives multiple text messages from Raven with the first one coming in at 6am just as he’s brushing his teeth: _He’s ruined another perfectly good tie. Just as well he has a whole drawer full of it._

 

He receives another one while he’s eating breakfast and ignoring the (not so secret) smile on his mama’s face that she’s sharing with papa whenever his phone chimes:   _He’s so skittish, how are we even born in the same family?_

His phone goes off again as he’s heading off to start his part-time job at the diner for the long holidays: _Are you attending the ceremony, too? Say congrats to him!_ And another one just as he’s pulling on a slightly large-borrowed chef’s uniform over his head out in the back office: _Even if you aren’t here you should still send him a message. Just say hi. Go on._

 

Eventually, and he’s not surprised by this at all, the tone of her messages goes from happy, teasing and cajoling to furious: _Don’t be a cheapskate, Erik. One message isn’t going to drastically burn a hole in your wallet._

 

And then finally: _Fine, be that way. Ass._

 

He ignores all of them to the best of his abilities, belatedly deciding to put his phone on silent about two hours into his shift, and continues on his task of peeling the skins off a 10kg bag of potatoes with another 10kg bag of carrots behind him waiting for the same treatment.

 

Throughout the day he makes several attempts to call the brunet, with two tries during his 15-minute break, but fails to follow through.

 

\---

 

Charles takes out his phone and checks for messages but there are none waiting for him. Then again, it’s not as though he had been expecting any.

 

\---

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here you have! IT'S THE FINAL CHAPTER!!! -starts playing the Final Countdown theme song-

 

\---

 

_It’s odd, he thinks, how the swimming pool looks exactly the same but seem completely different at the same time. It’s odd, he feels, how many memories he can conjure up just by looking at the calm, undulating waves. It’s odd, he sighs, how calming the gentle whirr of the pool system actually is as opposed to it being a dull background noise._

_Everything’s changing, and there’s nothing wrong with that._

 

\---

 

Charles fusses with his tie for the umpteenth time that morning. It threatened to strangle him at first, then it wouldn’t sit straight, and then the thin part decided it wanted to make an appearance when it was supposed to be hiding out the back. He bites back a frustrated growl as he tosses the rumpled tie over his shoulder and searches his drawer for another one. After some deliberation he picks up a blue silk tie with diagonal white stripes and loops it around his neck.

 

‘You do realize—’

 

He spins around wildly and takes an involuntary step backward where the wooden knobs of his dresser have the pleasure of meeting the bones of his back which his spine is not at all thankful for. He suppresses a cry of pain and shrugs it off with tears in his eyes as he makes another attempt at tying his tie again from the first step and ignores the smirk on Raven's face as she continues.

 

‘—you’re going to hide everything under your graduation gown anyway.’ Raven helpfully supplies. ‘You could go naked and no one would even know!’

 

‘ _I would,_ Raven,’ he tells her as he pulls the tie until it’s snug around his neck, checks the length of the tie to make sure everything is proper and decides he’s finally ready, more or less. ‘And those gowns are rental – who knows how hygienic they actually are.’

 

She snickers quietly as Charles makes a final check in the mirror. His shirt is spotless and ironed, as are his trousers, his tie is immaculate and his shoes are cleaned and polished.

 

Raven coughs and indicates the time. They’ve got ten more minutes to go before they need to leave and Charles still isn’t wearing his gown.

 

‘Be a dear and wait downstairs for me, please?’ He begs her so he can have his privacy back. She rolls his eyes at him as he pulls the deep-blue gown over his head, tidies up his hair again before straightening the sleeves and the back of the regalia.

 

He makes sure he has his essentials with him: his school ID card, his house keys, his wallet, and his phone. Charles takes the last one out of his pocket to check for messages but there’s none, not that he expects any. He presses “E” in the search panel and goes down the list of numbers but stops.

 

 _What am I doing?_ He asks himself. After half a minute of inactivity his phone decided to lock itself on autopilot. He puts it back into his pocket.

 

The last thing he needs to take is his graduation cap. He doesn’t bother wearing it just yet but he makes sure it’s with him before he’s out the door and down the stairs where mother and Raven are waiting.

 

‘Oh darling, don’t you just look _dashing_ ,’ Mother smiles as she sweeps her hands over his shoulders at imaginary dust particles. Her eyes are shiny with tears and he feels his own beginning to irritate him, too.

 

‘Let’s go before there’s no more parking!’ Raven hurries them along, but Charles can hear her quiet sniff and he knows she’s just as affected by this as he is. She’s got one more year to go before her own graduation ceremony and he knows she’ll make an even bigger fuss about it than him and he’s definitely going to give her hell for it.

 

They take photos before they leave. The first snap is just the three of them and for the second one they decided to hold a photo frame of Brian Xavier between them. They’re fighting tears in all of them.

 

\---

 

‘Are you looking for him?’

 

He fights against the urge to cringe as he turns to Raven with a blank look and a raised eyebrow. She returns the look but adds a touch of skepticism to her expression as she folds her arms across her chest and begins to tap her shoe on the ground in impatience. He looks over her shoulder and spots Hank, looking proud and self-conscious in his graduation robe but wearing the biggest smile Charles hasn’t seen since a few months before their final exams.

 

The ceremony finished just ten minutes ago and all that’s left for the graduates to do is to get their testimonials from the principal or their teachers, have their yearbooks signed and for more photos to be taken. Charles has his certificate in hand and he keeps it close to him as he passes Raven and mingles through the crowd until he reaches Hank.

 

‘Congratulations!’ He shouts over the noise of a hundred other students celebrating the end of their high school years, some with cheers and others with tears of joy.

 

‘To you as well!’ Hank says in return as he brings a hand up to his cap to make sure it doesn’t fall off from being jostled about. There’s a penalty fee of an extra $30 for loss or any damage inflicted to the cap, not including the rental cost of $15 and a total deposit for the whole regalia of $25 which will be forfeited.

 

Nobody said graduating was cheap.

 

‘When are you leaving to Virginia?’

 

‘Middle of August to get myself settled in, but I’ll come back for the holidays.’

 

‘You better come back for the holidays!’ Raven warns Hank as she sidles up next to Charles and points a threatening finger at him. ‘And you better email me at least 3 times a week, I will accept no excuses unless they involve projects, assignments or examinations.’

 

‘Emails won’t take longer than ten minutes to write, depending on the content and the length. I’m more than certain I will be able to write you at least once a day.’

 

She positively melts at this and Charles quickly makes a retreat before he sees something he’ll regret, like that time he walked in on them making out in the living room on his favorite napping couch which he actually hasn’t sat on since.

 

Half of the school field is occupied by cars for the sake of easing congestion on the road and the other half of the field is used for socializing and last minute catch-ups before everybody heads off in different directions to different parts of the country or the world in search for enlightenment academically or spiritually.

 

Charles finds himself looking around again even though he knows he won’t find what he’s looking for. He takes out his phone and checks for messages but there are none waiting for him. Then again, it’s not as though he had been expecting any.

 

\---

 

There’s no fanfare when he leaves. Mother and Raven see him off at the airport with well wishes and a request for him to call home every day.

 

‘If Hank can make the effort to email me once a day then you damn well better do the same!’ Raven terrorizes him until he agrees to it. He would’ve done so even without her badgering.

 

‘Take care, both of you,’ he tells them as he picks up his carry-on and laptop bag, readies himself for a long 7-hour estimated flight-time with nothing but two of his favorite novels and a recently purchased Sudoku puzzle book with four different difficulty levels – easy, medium, hard and _insane_. ‘I’ll visit in a couple months time and _yes_ , Raven, I’ll buy you some souvenirs,’ he says before she could tell him for the hundredth time on this day alone.

 

They share a hug and if any of them hold on for a little bit longer than necessary none of them call out on it. Charles feels hollow as he walks away from his family and steps through the point of no-return. There’s a tiny pinprick in the middle of his chest that he feels growing and stretching until it’s wide enough to become a chasm so vast he doesn’t think any amount of returning phone calls or emails back home will fill. He feels his eyes stinging with tears and he bids to distract himself by worrying his lower lip until it’s red raw. He notices a few people giving him looks but he doesn’t care because for the first time he’s going to be truly alone. For the next couple of months he’s going to be completely and utterly alone. He’s starting off fresh without any friends, without any physical support from his family and everything will have to be done on his own without any immediate input from Raven or quick advice from mother.

 

He takes in a shuddering breath.

 

_I’m scared._

 

\---

 

His phone’s ringing but his eyes are too wet with tears for him to read the caller ID so he picks up the call and hopes it’s either Raven or Hank wishing him a good flight but it’s not.

 

‘Charles? Are you okay?’

 

He pulls the phone away and blows into a tissue to clear his nose so he doesn’t sound like such a sniveling child but it’s too late. ‘How did you get my number? Don’t tell me Raven gave you my number.’

 

‘Alright, I won’t.’

 

Charles groans into his tissue and wishes Erik had picked a better time to call. Or better yet, hadn’t even bothered at all. But no, he’s glad Erik called him even if he won’t ever openly admit it.

 

‘Are you about to board?’ Erik asks him after a few moments of silence which Charles uses to calm down.

 

‘Not yet,’ he says but just as the words leave his mouth an announcement for his flight is broadcasted over the intercom telling everyone the plane is ready to be boarded: business class, parents with babies or those in need of assistance may come forward first.

 

‘That’s your cue, then?’

 

‘Not yet,’ Charles repeats and watches as the attendants check the passport of each and every passenger and then their plane tickets. ‘I have a front row seat next to the window; won’t be for another ten minutes, I think.’

 

‘Okay.’

 

Silence falls over their conversation again and it feels weird but not uncomfortable. Charles listens to the intercom asking for passengers in rows 36 to 47 to please come forward. He’s actually in row 13 but he won’t be called up for another 5 or so minutes, 10 if he really wants to push it.

 

‘How are you feeling?’

 

‘I’m…quite scared,’ he confesses even though another part of him is reprimanding him for being selfish, for letting the conversation focus wholly around him without a place for give and take but he doesn’t care. ‘I won’t have anybody there to turn to, it’ll be akin to turning over a new leaf except this isn’t voluntary at all; it’s completely necessary.’

 

‘But you _want_ Oxford.’

 

‘No, _no_ , it’s not Oxford that I wanted.’ It was the _idea_ of it. He feels more tears threaten to spill over and he only vaguely registers the announcement for rows 25 to 36 to come forward. It's going too fast for him to be comfortable with.

 

‘Then what _do_ you want?’ He hears Erik ask with a sigh.

 

‘I don’t want to be alone,’ he whispers brokenly. ‘I don’t want to go to a place where there won’t be a single familiar soul. I don’t want to be in a country that’s so obviously not my own. I don’t want to live under the same roof as other people that aren’t my family. And I just—’ he stops, finds all his words clogging up his throat and he hears the announcement for the last group of people to come forward but he’s not ready to go. He chokes and wishes Erik was here with him.

 

‘You’re scared, I know, and I’m sorry but this is life; sooner or later you’re going to have to step outside of your comfort zone. One day you’re going to get thrown into the deep end to see whether you’ll sink or swim and if that day is today then so be it.’

 

Charles wants to tell Erik he’s being terrible – that he should be trying to be _sympathetic_ , not the opposite of it.

 

‘You’re going to be fine; I know you will.’ Erik tells him again. ‘I don’t know why I need to keep telling you this.’

 

He sniffs into his tissue and takes a long, shuddering breath through his mouth (his nose is practically useless right now) to steady his voice. ‘Maybe I just need some more convincing?’

 

He hears a chuckle on Erik’s side but it’s soft and Charles strains to hear him.

 

There’s a tap on his shoulder and he turns to see one of the flight attendants smiling at him with concern. ‘It’s time to board, sir, may I have your passport and ticket, please?’

 

‘Oh,’ he unzips the front pocket of his laptop bag and produces his passport and itinerary to the lady which she scans both of into the computer before returning back to Charles.

 

‘Enjoy your flight, sir,’ she smiles again and gestures for him to follow on through. On the intercom, another announcement is being made for his flight calling for any last passengers still shopping at the duty-free stores.

 

‘This is it, then?’ Charles hears Erik ask.

 

He doesn’t want it to be but he’s twenty steps away from boarding and he knows he has about 30-seconds of talk-time left before he needs to hang up and switch off his phone. One minute if he _really_ wants to push it.

 

‘Well, you’ve got my number,’ Erik says, trying to sound as casual as can be. ‘You can Skype me, or buy a smart phone and use those free apps where you don’t have to pay to make overseas phone calls.’

 

Charles laughs, _truly_ laughs into the phone. He can see the attendants raising an eyebrow at him even though they look amused by his teary eyes and his hysterics but he doesn’t mind. At least he’s laughing into the phone with tears in his eyes as opposed to bawling his heart out, which is always a positive (and more dignifying) sign.

 

‘Have a safe flight, Charles,’ he tells him as soon as he calms.

 

‘Thank you, Erik.’

 

'Take care,' he says and waits a beat before hanging up.

 

Charles takes a deep breath and boards the plane.

 

\---

\---

 

** One year later **

 

\---

\---

 

‘Mother, _Mother_ , I told you I’ve already packed all my essentials: my passport is with me and so is my ticket,’  which he produces from the front pocket of his laptop bag in hopes she’ll let him go before his name gets called over the intercom.

 

She clicks her tongue at him and moves on to running her manicured fingers through his hair instead. ‘Make sure you get a trim before classes begin; your hair is much too long. I should’ve forced you to see Beatrice but you were hardly in the house at all this visit.’

 

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologizes with a wince and prepares himself for an earful from her.

 

‘Raven went off with Hank somewhere doing God knows what, not that a mother needs to know everything, and you practically spent your entire holiday going out on runs, exercising in the gym and swimming with Erik. I had to go to the Marko’s party all by my lonesome! Do you have _any_ idea how horrifying that experience is?’

 

He smiles sheepishly and vows to suffer through future parties and get-togethers with mother from that day forward, if only for the sake of saving himself from another one of her spiels. ‘Next holiday, I promise,’ he swears as he readjusts the straps of his bags and hugs her before hurrying off. There’s roughly a quarter of an hour left to boarding time and he wants to spend at least a couple of minutes in the duty-free shop – he’d promised one of his friends he’d help them buy a few blocks of Toblerone chocolate on his return trip.

 

Charles is just deciding which type of chocolate to consider when he hears his phone ringing. Without looking at the caller ID (because he already has a feeling who’d be calling) he answers just as he settles on dark chocolate, white chocolate, and the all-time-favorite: original.

 

‘Charles, glad to hear you’ve not been reduced to tears again.’

 

His smile drops off his face as he hands the cashier the bars of chocolate and frowns into the phone. ‘It was _one time_ ,’ he grinds out as he readjusts the strap of his carry-on and laptop bag before its digs a trench in his shoulder.

 

As soon as he’s paid for his purchases he hears the intercom announcing the boarding of his flight. Even with this knowledge he still takes his time heading towards his gate.

 

‘Sounds like you’re about to board.’

 

‘Not yet. I’ve got ten more minutes, maybe,’ he hazards a guess. He’s sitting near the front again, by the window on row 18. If procedures for boarding are still the same then the business class passengers, the elderly and parents with young children will be the first to board and that alone ought to take about five minutes before the next lot of passengers is allowed to follow.

 

‘If you say so.’

 

Charles bites back a grin as he steadies himself on the escalator ride down. His gate is a small distance away but the first thing he sees is a very long line and only two attendants at the front desk. He silently wishes them good luck as he takes a seat and waits for his turn.

 

‘How are you feeling?’ He hears Erik ask, and he’s more than certain he’s not imagining the smile in Erik’s voice.

 

‘I’ve got the usual pre-flight jitters,’ he answers as he reclines until his head is comfortably lying on the back rest. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to flying even though I’ve already made ten trips back and forth for the holidays.’

 

He scoffs. ‘It’s just as well you’re rich.’

 

‘Don’t be jealous,’ he tries to smirk but it comes off more as a silly grin instead.

 

‘To be jealous implies actually caring, which I don’t.’

 

Charles tries to feign hurt even though it’s not as obvious, nor as funny, over the phone. ‘You have a heart of steel.’

 

‘So I’ve been told.’

 

He smiles, aware he looks like a loon as he listens to the second announcement for passengers in rows 25 to 36 to come forward, but then he pauses when he hears an echo of the same message on Erik’s side with a slight one-second delay. He chalks it up to bad reception and shrugs it off.

 

There’s a shiver in his body, a mixture of excitement of another trip back to England and nerves of anxiety at leaving home again. It comes less and less the more and more he travels but he doubts it will ever disappear.

 

‘I’ll miss you,’ he tells Erik and feels his cheeks warming up at his statement but he doesn’t take it back, not like the other times when his mouth doesn’t cooperate with his brain and says things he doesn’t mean to say.

 

‘I won’t miss you at all.’

 

He gawks into the phone.’ You are being perfectly rude! If someone expresses a sentiment they expect it to be returned equally.’

 

Erik laughs into the phone and Charles hears the same laugh being echoed back to him after a short delay. He starts to wonder if there is a malfunction in his phone (or maybe even in Erik’s phone) but he doesn’t have the chance to ask because there’s a warm breath over his shoulder and he feels severely creeped out.

 

‘I can do better than that,’ Erik whispers into Charles’ ear which causes the brunet to yelp in an undignified manner and almost throw his phone 10 feet up in the air.

 

‘What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here!’ He hisses into the phone and belatedly realizes it’s pointless before hanging up all the while ignoring the looks he's recently garnered for himself.

 

‘Don’t you know? I’m going to Oxford.’ Erik smiles as he holds up his itinerary for the same flight going from New York to England. Amazingly, he’s just four rows away from him.

 

‘You never told me,’ he manages to say after a few moments of stunned silence.

 

‘That’s because you never asked, being the self-centric person that you are,’ he tells him just as an attendant asks for the last passengers to come forward to present their passports and flight tickets over the intercom.

 

‘Again, rude,’ he reprimands but can’t help the excited bubble in his belly and wonders if he can ask the person who’s meant to sit next to him to switch places with Erik. ‘How long have you been planning this? Was it a recent development?’ He asks as they join the queue to board the plane.

 

‘Again, self-centric; not everything is about you,’ he smirks but it comes off as a grin instead. ‘If you must know, this move has always been in my cards. I have relatives living nearby, or relatively nearby. Papa was the first to fly back, followed by Mama a couple of months earlier and now me.’ He replies as he readies his passport and makes sure it’s on the page displaying his photo and details. Charles doesn’t get the chance to peek before Erik snaps the booklet shut again.

 

‘Where, exactly?’

 

‘It’s just across the channel actually, but it’s nothing a couple of hours drive won’t take care of.’

 

‘Across the channel?’ He repeats in surprise.

 

‘And past the French border,’ he adds as he hands the flight attendant his passport and itinerary to be checked into the computer system.

 

‘Looks like we have a lot to talk about for the next 7 hours.’

 

‘I’ll do my utmost to keep you as _entertained_ as I possibly can,’ he vows solemnly, although the effect is ruined by the smirk on his face as they take their time down the walkway to join another small queue leading into the plane. It’s not long before it’s their turn.

 

‘I welcome you to try.’

 

Together, they take their first step.

 

\---

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 ****  
End  
  


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**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you all for reading this! I hope you've all enjoyed it as much as I have enjoyed writing it even though I strayed from my original estimation by SO MUCH I CAN'T EVEN--DFJGSHDJFHGSD!! I am never making estimations again because I SUCK AT THEM. SO! Right~ Here's my obligatory Tumblr link which you can click [here](http://straggling-wanderer.tumblr.com/). Feel free to pop by!


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